


Looking For Something Dumb To Do

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: The Chronicles of Impossibility [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Polygamy, Pregnancy, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 101,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara's plan was brilliant, of course. Completely foolproof. If her father wanted to walk her down the aisle before he died, that could be accomplished. The only slight issue was the lack of available suitors for her to wed... except for the one choice she really shouldn't go with. She asks him anyway, and the Doctor is more surprised than Clara when he actually <em>agrees</em> to her crackpot scheme.</p><p>It's not until later that they find out that getting married is only the beginning of things: there's also dealing with sister wives, falling in love, and having a family to cope with.</p><p>If one thing is certain, it's that life on the TARDIS is about to get very, very complicated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Indecent Proposal

Clara stepped into the console room, the invitation clutched in her palms apprehensively. She chewed her lip as she looked over to the Doctor, scrawling frantically across the blackboards with a stick of chalk as he muttered to himself in Gallifreyan, undoubtedly working on some deep maths problem. _Well_ , she told herself. _There’s no time like the present. Not even when you have a time machine._ She stepped up to the console and cleared her throat pointedly to attract his attention. 

“Clara!” he said brightly, turning to face her and descending the stairs to her. “I was thinking we could visit Poosh. Been meaning to go for a while, figured you might fancy coming al… what?” he noticed the expression on her face and frowned, understanding abruptly that something was probably – almost definitely – very wrong with Clara. 

“It’s ah… it’s my dad’s fifty fifth birthday. He’s having a sort of… do.” She explained, and his eyebrows raised in bemusement as he considered the prospect, trying to wrap his head around what she was hinting at. 

“A _do_?” he asked scathingly, not fully understanding what she was getting at. “What sort of _do_?”

“You know. A party.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and cast her eyes downwards, refusing to meet his critical stare as she waited for the cogs in that great brain of his to turn and realisation to dawn. 

“With…”

“With other humans, and alcohol, and dancing, yes.” 

“Sounds rubbish,” he scoffed, and she sighed, knowing that she would have to make herself much clearer and then beg and plead with him, so she mentally steeled herself for the ordeal in store, taking a deep breath. 

“Well I’m going-” she began. 

“Good, I can drop you off.” 

“And I’m expected to bring a plus one.”

“A plus what?" 

“A plus one. You know. A _date_.” She took in his look of blind incomprehension. “A friend. I have to bring a friend.” 

“And you’re asking me because…?” 

“ _You’re_ my friend,” she said, pitching her tone to what she hoped was somewhere between pleading and teasing, praying that it would be enough to invoke his pity and agree to come. “And it would help me out.” 

“Doesn’t your face count as a plus one? It’s wide enough.” 

She scowled in calculated irritation. “I knew you’d be like this.” She turned away, tossing her hair over her shoulder and pouting just _so._ “I could always take Adrian…” 

“No, no, no…” the Doctor mumbled after a few seconds of thought, and she smirked to herself in triumph. “I didn’t say… I guess… I could do a party.” 

“You’re not allowed to talk about conspiracy theories,” she warned him, holding up one finger in a chiding manner. “Or physics. Or space.”

“What about maths?” 

“No.”

“Alien politics?”

“Definitely not.” 

“You?” 

“Only if it’s to say how completely lovely I am, and what a wonderful person I am, and how grateful you are that I invited you…” 

“So, lie?” 

“Shut up.” She threw the invitation at him and he caught it millimetres from his face, smirking at how much he had managed to irk her. “Try to get the date right. I don’t fancy turning up a hundred years early.”

“Well, are you going like that?” he asked her snidely, indicating her damp hair and bathrobe, and she scowled at him again, looking him up and down through narrowed eyes. 

“Dunno, are you going in that holey old hoodie?” 

“I’ll change if you do.” 

“I _am_ going to change, idiot.” She smacked his arm playfully and swept from the console room, heading into her bedroom and battling with her hair and makeup until she was satisfied that she looked more composed, before zipping herself into a knee length, deep-blue cocktail dress and slipping on a pair of heels. She stepped back into the main room, her shoes clicking on the metal floor, and took in the sight of the Doctor dressed in an actual, proper suit, complemented with a TARDIS-blue tie that almost matched her dress. She blushed, feeling abruptly, inexplicably bashful, and was for once grateful for the dim lighting of the TARDIS and the way it hid her pink cheeks from the Doctor’s gaze.

“Don’t scrub up too badly,” she teased, and he looked – to his credit – almost embarrassed, turning away from her and releasing the handbrake to disguise his grin of pride.

“Don’t look too awful either,” he admitted gruffly from the other side of the console, and she laughed as she moved to wrap her arms around him in an affectionate hug. 

“Thanks, daft old man,” she said, listening to the time rotors fall silent and then taking in the faint sound of music, filtering through the TARDIS doors from outside, realising that he’d managed a perfect landing: right place, right time, _first_ time. “Managed it then.” 

“I always manage it.” 

“Except when you don’t…” 

“Look, are you going to be this argumentative all evening?” he asked with semi-serious frustration, and she laughed, twisting away from him and going over to the doors. 

“Behave yourself,” she warned again. “Or else.” 

“Yes boss,” he concurred, and she nodded and stepped out into the party confidently, almost disappearing into a throng of people he supposed must be her relatives. He sighed in resignation and followed her out into the darkened church hall, groaning aloud at the loud eighties music but sticking with her as she wove her way across the room, one hand holding tightly to his to ensure they didn’t get separated. 

“Dad!” Clara called, and her father turned at the sound of her voice, smiling warmly as she ran the last few metres into his arms, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday!” 

“You came!” he said with some surprise, returning her hug, and Clara frowned a little as she took in his haggard appearance and dishevelled hair, mentally calculating whether the stress of living with the stepmonster was enough to do this to him, trying to allay the sudden fears that threatened her fragile happiness. 

“Of course I came!” she said with forced brightness. “ _And_ I brought a plus one!” 

“Oh?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the prospect. “Who?”

Clara seized the Doctor’s arm and dragged him over, presenting him to her dad with a flourish. “This is Doctor John Smith.” 

“A _doctor?_ ” her dad surveyed him with concern, and she could all but read his thoughts as he took in the Doctor’s greying hair and weathered face. “Clara…”

“We met through work,” she improvised, interrupting him before he could get started on a lecture about her choice in men. “It’s just… yeah.” 

“Nice to meet you,” the Doctor said as politely as he could manage. “Clara’s dad.” 

“Likewise,” Dave said, shaking his hand with some trepidation. “Clara, can I have a w-” 

“Where’s Linda?” she asked with as much forced interest as she could muster, attempting to change the subject and divert his attention, and he blinked at her in surprise at the question, thrown by her sudden concern with his relationship. 

“Oh,” he mumbled, staring fixedly at the floor. “We urm… we called it a day.”

“What?!” Clara exclaimed in shock, although she felt her heart leap selfishly at the prospect that her dad had _finally_ let that terrible woman go, with her rudeness and her constant sniping at Clara, her fussing and her criticisms. “Why?!” 

Dave shrugged noncommittally. “Differences, I guess. It’s fine. I’m fine with it.” 

“Dad…” 

“Clara, it’s _fine,_ just go and have fun, OK? Are you staying at the house afterwards?” 

“Yeah… but…” 

“Well then, we’ll talk later. I’m _fine._ Go! Have fun!” 

Clara sighed and took the Doctor’s arm, pushing through the crowds as she ran over her dad’s words, trying to comprehend why he would break things off with Linda. Much as she despised the woman, she had made her father content, and she wondered if his slightly weary appearance was to do with the separation. She supposed it must be, but she still felt fear twist in the pit of her stomach, and she decided that serious intervention was needed if she was going to have a good time. 

“I thought you didn’t like Linda,” the Doctor observed eventually, when they were safely ensconced in a corner by the buffet table. “So this is good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah but… I don’t know. She made dad happy,” Clara sighed, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. “Pass me a glass of wine.”

“Is that a good idea?” the Doctor asked dubiously, eyeing the neatly stacked glasses and then turning his gaze to Clara’s tiny form. “I mean, remember what happened on-”

“If I have to deal with all these family members, I need wine. Pass. Now.” She commanded, praying the lie would work and holding her hand out expectantly to emphasise her point. “Red.”

He capitulated unwillingly, handing her a glass and watching her down it in one gulp. “Is that…”

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

Once the Doctor had tucked Clara up in bed, he retreated to the sofa in her room, sitting with his head in his hands as he ran over the events of the evening. She’d had four consecutive glasses of wine, passed out in his arms half an hour later, and insisted – loudly – that he take her home to bed. He’d agreed to the first, strongly opposed the second, and waited with her while her father called her a cab, scowling heartily at him as he bundled the both of them inside and gave the address, coupled with _firm_ instructions to not sleep in the same bed. _Really,_ he thought to himself. _As if I would. She fidgets too much for my liking._   

He sighed, folding his legs under himself and settling in for the night. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could do to help, uncertain as he was of humans and their responses to alcohol, but he knew that Clara was prone to drunken wandering, so he resolved to stay up and keep watch over her, ensuring she came to no harm in her inebriated state. Throughout the small hours, he sat, motionless and watchful, with a careful eye on Clara, relaxing only when she stirred late in the morning and opened her eyes slowly.

“Doctor… why are you in my… oh god,” she groaned in pain and pulled the duvet over her face. “Did we…” she sat up abruptly, her expression panicked. “ _Tell me we didn’t have sex._ ” 

“We… didn’t have sex.” He assured her, trying to bite back any witty comments. “You got quite drunk though. Your dad was fairly cross.”

“Oh.” She blushed a deep shade of crimson. “Oops. If it’s any consolation, I feel like shit.” 

“I’m not surprised; you did have quite a lot of wine.”

“We should go make coffee…” she looked at him hopefully. “And by _we_ I mean…” 

He stood up and watched her eyes light up, before he yanked the curtains open and flooded the room with sunlight, heading for the door. “Clara, get up. You’ll feel better. I’ll be downstairs.” 

She sighed and then groaned again as he slammed the bedroom door shut behind him, pulling a pillow over her face and closing her eyes tight against both the daylight and the nausea of her hangover. She snoozed for what felt like forever before she was interrupted in her self-pity. 

“Clara?” her dad stuck his head around the door with a degree of apprehension, noticing her dishevelled state and internally wincing in empathy for his daughter. “Morning.” 

“Dad, I’m really sorry, I just…”

“Clara, it’s fine,” he said resolutely, stepping inside and looking down at his hands, before his face took on a grave expression that caused Clara’s stomach to clench in fear. “We need to talk.” 

“About last night, or…”

“No, about… about something else, love.” He sat beside her on the bed and looked down at his lap, reaching for her hand and squeezing it as he tried to find the words to express what he needed to say. “It’s good to see you again, I just… I’ve got some news. Bad news. Didn’t wanna tell you last night and ruin your fun.” 

“What…?” she asked, terror gripping her, unable to even form a witticism as she gripped his hand in a way she hadn’t done in years. “Is it about Linda?” 

“No, it’s… Clara, love, I’m sorry…” he looked up at her, his eyes full of tears as he took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’ve got cancer. Pancreatic.”

She contemplated him in silence for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the information, before an irrational sense of optimism flooded through her and she forced herself to smile cheerfully. “Well that’s not…” she paused, trying to gather her thoughts and her positivity. “It’s not the end of the world, is it? They can do…” 

“Clara…” he managed, and he didn’t need to say any more, didn’t need to speak the words aloud, because she understood from the look in his eyes, understood what he was going to say. 

“No, no, no…” she murmured, shaking her head forcefully and trying to pull away from him, the contact suddenly far too much to bear when coupled with the thought of losing him. “No, dad…” 

“I’m sorry love…” his voice cracked and he pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair as she fell apart in his embrace. “It’s… stage 4, they’ve said six to nine months…” 

“No, dad, no…” Clara felt tears welling up, hot and shameful, and she clung to him, childlike, still shaking her head in disbelief at the news: at the fact she was going to lose her dad. “There must be something they can do…”

“Clara, I’m sorry, there’s nothing… they said they could offer chemo, but it wouldn’t do anything…” 

“There must be something,” she said fiercely, refusing to give up so easily, determined to fight. “There’s got to be _something_ they can do, some new treatment or…” She froze in her sobs, her face contorting as realisation struck her and she understood that perhaps there was something she could do to help. “DOCTOR!” she bellowed, waiting until he stuck his head around the door before continuing: “I need a favour.” 

“What kind?” he asked in bafflement, taking in the scene before him and realising perhaps that something was very, very wrong with Clara, therefore that what she was about to ask him was of the utmost importance and that he needed all his wits about him. 

“We need a hospital planet,” she said simply, and he frowned at her. 

“Your hangover isn’t _that_ bad,” he complained, trying to downplay his anxieties. “It’s _just_ a hangover, Clara, it’ll pass.” 

“Not for _me,_ ” she argued, scowling at him. “For dad. He’s… it’s not good.” 

“What kind of not good?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Dave and hoping that his hunch was wrong. 

“ _Nothing,_ ” Clara’s dad insisted firmly, before adding as an afterthought: “wait, planet?” but Clara silenced him with a wave of her hand, continuing on with her determined plea.

“He’s dying, Doctor, and you need to fix it _right now_ , or so help me, I will kill you, you need to make this _right_ -”

“Clara,” Dave murmured. “Clara, I don’t understand…”

“He’s a time traveller, dad. OK? He takes me to places in time and space, and he can take _you_ to somewhere in the future, and they can cure you, and we can carry on, and it’ll all be fine…”

“Clara, please, you sound crazy-” 

“I’m _not,_ we can _fix this_ , dad!” she reiterated more emphatically, standing and rounding on the Doctor with a look of fury. “Can’t we?” 

“Clara, I don’t think…” the Doctor began, but she glowered at him, her face contorted with her suffering, and he could feel his hearts breaking as he understood her suffering and felt it engulf him.

“ _Fix it!_ ” she screamed, and her dad seized her by the wrist and shook her once, gently, feeling guilt flood him as she dissolved into tears at his touch.

“Clara, _please_ ,” he implored her. “I’m… I’m at peace with the idea, I just… Clara, please. It’s my time, and I’ll be back with your mum. Just… can you accept that? As a last wish?” 

She bit her lip and studied him with wide, wet eyes for what felt like eternity before nodding slowly and unwillingly at him. “OK,” she murmured, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “Fine. It might take a while, but fine, I’ll try. Last wish.”

“That’s a rubbish last wish,” the Doctor interjected, and both father and daughter turned to glare at him in synchronicity. “I mean, most huma- people want to bungee jump, or go travelling, or…”

“Walk my daughter down the aisle.” Dave admitted, looking a touch embarrassed at the cliché of his request. “That’s my ultimate goal.” 

Clara looked at him in shock before tears began to spill, unbidden, down her cheeks again as she considered what he was about to lose, what she was going to lose once he was gone. “Oh dad…” 

“I know it’s daft, especially after Danny, but I… I always wanted to…” Dave sighed and smiled a sad smile at her, and it was then that she felt an idea beginning to form in her mind, wondering whether it could possibly be feasible, whether it would be enough for him to believe in. She looked to the Doctor with determination, watching him raise his eyebrows warningly at her but disregarding his concerns and proceeding anyway, knowing that he knew that she was about to do something he wouldn’t approve of but finding herself not caring about anything other than her father’s happiness. 

“Well,” she began brightly, drying her eyes and fixing her face into a vaguely happy expression. “It’s good, because the Doctor and I have exciting news too, don’t we?” She forced an airy smile and felt the Doctor’s look scorching her from across the room, determinedly avoiding his gaze for a few more seconds. 

“Don’t…” the Doctor muttered under his breath, scowling at her before taking heed of the expression on her face which even he understood to mean “shut up.”

“We’re engaged!” Clara enthused more loudly, before adding, for clarification: “To be married!” 

The Doctor looked pained for a millisecond before deciding that the best course of action was to play along, and he painted his face into a semblance of a smile and tried to look less horrified. “Yeah… we’re… getting hitched…” he grimaced despite himself and hoped Dave wouldn’t notice. “For real.” 

Clara smiled more widely and reached for his hand, squeezing it in warning and digging her nails into his knuckles. “He popped the question months ago.” 

“Yeah… I… did. On top of the Eiffel Tower. New Year’s Eve. 1900.” The Doctor stumbled over his words, his inability to lie amplified by stress, and Dave looked unconvinced, squinting suspiciously at the pair of them. 

“It was _so_ romantic,” Clara enthused, meeting the Doctor’s gaze and noting the fury that burned there, but feeling undeterred in her quest. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah… Could hardly contain myself.” 

Dave looked confused, nonetheless, by the turn of events he had been confronted with, but forced himself to smile at his daughter’s apparent contentment. “Well… congratulations!” 

“Thanks, daddy!” she chirped, giving the Doctor an adoring look and then kissing him before he could protest, pressing her lips to his in an approximation of a loving kiss and feeling his hand tense up in hers before he kissed back gently, his lips hot and dry underneath hers. She felt suddenly aware of her morning breath, and she fought the urge to giggle at the sheer ridiculousness of the entire thing: the sheer pantomime spectacle of the whole affair. 

“Clara…” he murmured, pulling away and looking at her with mild horror, stricken by the turn of events. 

“Shush,” she mumbled, biting his bottom lip playfully and then kissing him once more, before leaning against him and placing her hand on his chest, slipping her palm under his shirt and feeling his hearts hammering. “I thought I’d never find love again, dad, but then we met at work and I just… it was instant, you know?” she smiled radiantly.

“Well…” Dave said, whistling under his breath as he considered their impending nuptials. “When and where?” 

“Whenever you’d like,” Clara assured him, digging her nails lightly into the Doctor’s chest in case he was considering arguing. He coughed awkwardly and moved away, looking out the window with careful, concentrated interest. “It’s up to you.” 

“Well,” her dad mused. “I could go at any time, but I’m sure I’ll be here next month.” 

“ _Sure, why not?!_ ” the Doctor exclaimed, his tone stricken as he whirled around, widening his eyes at Clara angrily behind Dave’s back, mouthing what she was certain were obscenities. 

“That would be lovely,” she concurred, smiling at her father and then embracing him in order to scowl at the Doctor over his shoulder. 

“Why are you shouting?” she asked sweetly. “ _Dear_?”

“Because I’m so… so… _excited_ …” 

“Ah!” Dave beamed and stood up. “My Clara’s getting married! This calls for some champagne! Live and let live, and all!” 

He swept from the room and Clara smiled angelically at the Doctor, which served only to stoke his fury further. 

“You don’t think we could have discussed this _before_ you basically proposed? Can’t I be wined and dined and made to feel special and appreciated?” he spluttered, pacing the room in agitation.

“Oh hush, Doctor,” she said impatiently, standing and pulling on a dressing gown then beginning to battle with her bed hair. “It’s just a short term thing.” 

“Clara… it’s going to be a _real service._ We are _actually going to be married._ ” He snarled, and she rolled her eyes at him in the mirror.

“Yep, I get it.”

“ _Actually.”_  

“Yep.” 

“As in, _‘I do.’_ Why are you so calm about this?!” 

“Because it’ll make my dad happy, and that makes me happy,” she said quietly, her anger fading as quickly as it had flared. “Doctor, please. It won’t be for long. We can sort it out later on. It’ll just be… convenient.”

“But…” 

“Doctor,” she turned the wide eyed look on him, the one he could never resist, and he felt his resolve weakening as her bottom lip trembled and she implored him for help. “Please.” 

“Clara…” 

“It’s you or Adrian.” She snapped in irritation for the second time in two days, knowing it would be enough to tip him over the edge, and he scowled as he felt his jealousy flare, turning sulkily back to the window and resting his head on the glass. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he snarled to her reflection. “Guess we should get you a ring then...” 

“Better be a good one…” she teased, and he groaned in response. 

“Oh god, I don’t legally have to do what you say, do I?” 

“No,” Clara decided after a moment, grinning at him cheekily. “Not _legally_. But it’s recommended.”                                                                                                  

“Or what?” 

“Or else I could be a _very_ uncooperative wife.” 

He groaned again at the prospect of Clara as his wife, scarcely daring to acknowledge that perhaps it could be a positive thing to be married to his best friend. But then there was River, and god only knows how she would take it, and the whole worry of how Clara’s family would take the news, and that was not even to mention the wedding itself, or the…. oh god, there was the other thing. Oh god, how could he bring that up? Did she realise? Did she want… 

“Doctor,” she said loudly, interrupting his thoughts. “You zoned out.” 

He sighed, closing his eyes and gripping the windowsill for support. “Just thinking about your ring. _Darling._ ”


	2. Ringing Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning a wedding was always going to be stressful, Clara knew that. But trying to plan a wedding with the Doctor is somehow even more difficult… especially when they realise they have to phone an old friend and ask for her help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on chapter one! This fic just keeps growing and growing in my mind while I write it, so have no fear... it will be long.

The Doctor had, as predicted, grumbled endlessly about the prospect of buying Clara a ring. 

“But why do I have to _buy_ you one?” he’d asked her in exasperation the morning after her proposal, her in bed with a mug of tea and him back on the sofa with a plate of toast. “Why can’t I just borrow one off someone?” 

Clara gave him a stern look, then raised one eyebrow questioningly: daring him, _challenging_ him. “Like who?” 

“Like…” he paused for thought, suddenly stumped. An entire universe of possibilities and not a single idea of where to begin. “Vastra?” he suggested after a few seconds, meeting Clara’s gaze and flinching.

“Doctor, I’m not sharing a ring with a Silurian. She might be annoyed. Jenny would _definitely_ be annoyed.” 

“But…” he tried to protest, and Clara sighed in frustration, sipping her tea without breaking their eye contact. 

“But what?” she asked, her tone dangerous. 

“But I don’t have any money,” he complained, praying that the lie would be enough to stall Clara in her enthusiasm, but she simply gave him the chiding look that she gave her students, and raised her eyebrow even further. _It’s in danger of disappearing into her hair,_ he noted snidely, biting back a snigger and realising he needed to seem more apologetic. “I _don’t_!” he reiterated more loudly, holding up his hands.

“Doctor.” Clara said slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with care. “We have robbed a bank together. Yes?” he nodded in agreement. “You have a sonic screwdriver that can open _any_ lock. You can hack _any_ computer system. And you’re honestly trying to tell me that you don’t have _any_ money?”

“None.” He repeated emphatically, glad she was finally comprehending his point. “None at all. Unless you want to rob another bank. Which I’m not complaining about altogether, but I don’t fancy getting arrested before this wedding, and I also object to stealing. As a general rule.” 

“Well I can’t buy myself a ring!” Clara said furiously, scowling at him. “My salary doesn’t stretch that f- oh.” 

“Oh?” 

“You get paid.”

“I what?”

“You get paid. By UNIT. They pay you. They’ve been paying you for decades.” 

Realisation dawned on the Doctor, shortly followed by the fact he would have to admit that his memory had failed him, and that then Clara would almost definitely gloat.  “Oh,” he said weakly, aiming for humility in the hope of diverting her smugness. “Yeah.” 

“So, do you just… have a bank account, or…?” 

“I… honestly don’t know,” he admitted, hating not-knowing. “I’ve never really needed to know.” 

“Wow, the great Time Lord admits he is not, in actual fact, omniscient…” Clara teased, and then it was his turn to scowl at her.

“I never _needed_ to pay for things before! I used to be sort of… younger, and better looking, it worked on people.” 

Clara was doing a look at him. Oh _gods_ , what did that look mean? Had he said something wrong? Had he accidentally implied something about her? He’d really made a concerted effort not to do that of late, but he could have slipped up… 

“I know,” she said softly, and he realised that she wasn’t angry, she was far from angry, and she smiled at him tenderly then, his mouth twisting up into a mirror expression of its own accord. “I’ve seen all of your faces, remember?” 

“Well, the first three weren’t good. But Sandshoes and Bow-Tie were fairly… acceptable.” 

“Acceptable?” Clara asked, her smile turning into a flirtatious grin as she teased him. 

“…ladies seemed to like them,” he elaborated, waving his hands vaguely. “More than this one.” 

“I like this one,” Clara admitted, turning a delicate shade of pink before clarifying: “I mean. Not in a kind of, you know… _sex_ way. But it’s a good face. Distinguished.” 

“It’s liney.” 

“It’s weathered. Besides, you can’t spend too long using a pretty face to pay for things.”

“Why?” the Doctor asked with genuine curiosity, having watched Clara do the very same thing the week before on Ursa Matraxia. “ _You_ do it.” 

“Yeah, but I do have actual money.” Clara argued, giving him the kind of look that he now understood to mean _drop it,_ but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. 

“So do I!” he objected, and she laughed, crossing the room to him and getting out her phone. “What’s that for? You’re not going to… selfie us, are you?” 

“No,” Clara said in the patient tone she usually reserved for her students. “You’re going to call Kate and tell her the _wonderful_ news.” 

“I am?” 

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You are. And you are going to say that you would like access to your salary so you can buy me a lovely ring, and also pay for the wedding.”

“But… I thought…” 

She smiled at him with forced sweetness. “Well, Dad can’t pay for everything, can he? Besides, you’re Doctor John Smith, and you’re a _very rich man_ , so you can take care of me.” She took in his look of blind incomprehension and sighed, realising she needed to be clearer. “Doctor, you’re rich. You’re paying.” 

“Which wonderful news am I telling Kate though? The truth, or the lie?” 

“Whichever you think is going to be less weird,” Clara decided after a moment’s consideration. “So probably the lie. But advise her to play along.” 

“Fine,” the Doctor grumbled, then noticed Clara’s expectant look. “What, you want me to do it _now_?” 

“No time like the present!” she enthused, and he groaned at her chirpy tone, knowing that there was no arguing with her when she got like this. 

“There is when you’re a time traveller…” he complained under his breath, scrolling through her meticulously organised phone contacts and selecting Kate’s number with some trepidation. Placing the phone on speaker, he listened to it ringing and felt both his hearts speed up in nervous anticipation. Kate answered on the third ring. 

“Clara!” Kate said cheerfully, and the Doctor felt a sudden, irrational spike of irritation. “How are you?” 

“Not Clara,” the Doctor explained, his tone unintentionally gruff. “It’s me.” 

“Doctor?” Kate asked, her tone panicked. “Where’s Clara? Is she alright? What’s happened?”

“I’m here!” Clara interrupted, looking to the Doctor and smiling in encouragement. “Nothing’s happened, everything’s fine. We’re just calling because we needed to ask you something.” 

“ _We_ being…” 

“Me and the Doctor.” 

“Oh. Well, what’s up?” 

“Well,” Clara began, unsure how to phrase her news. “My dad is sort of urm… he’s…”

“He’s very unwell,” the Doctor interceded, noticing Clara’s eyes fill with tears and her throat close up at the words, and deciding it would be best to take over. “Badly unwell, and he has a final wish, and so long story short, Clara and I are getting hitched.”

“You’re…” Kate mumbled after a long pause. “Getting…”

“Married, yes.” The Doctor clarified. 

“To Clara.” 

“Yep.”

“Clara _Oswald_?" 

“Yep…” he repeated, wondering what was so difficult to grasp about this concept. Kate had always seemed so remarkably bright. Perhaps he had overestimated her.

“Five foot two, brunette, schoolteacher, definitely- _not_ -romantically-interested-in-you Clara Oswald?”

“That’s the one, yep.” 

“Clara?” Kate asked, and Clara took the phone, trying not to laugh at their friend’s response. “Are you feeling OK?” 

“I’m fine,” she said with amusement. “This was just… really, this was the least weird option.” 

“ _He_ was the least weird option?” Kate’s tone was incredulous, and Clara bit back a laugh. 

“ _He_ is sat next to me,” she informed Kate, smiling at the Doctor’s bemused expression and patting his hand consolingly. “Really, this _is_ the least weird option. It’s fine, it’s just really convenient, but it’s all got to be really convincing, and well… I don’t have a ring. Or a dress. Or, indeed, any kind of… wedding-y stuff. So I was wondering if you could kind of give the Doctor access to his UNIT salary.” 

“And when you say ‘give the Doctor access’ you mean…”

"Give _me_ access, yep.” 

“So he’s paying?” Kate mused, sounding impressed by the prospect. “Wow.” 

“He doesn’t have much choice,” Clara admitted. “I sort of press-ganged him into it.” 

“Into the whole thing!” the Doctor interjected, and Clara smacked him in the shoulder, glaring at him with little conviction. 

“Well,” Kate exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. “This _is_ a turn-up for the books.” 

“I know,” Clara said, suddenly feeling rather uncertain about what had seemed like a good idea. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kate assured her. “Just… well, he’s a very wealthy man, Clara.” 

“How wealthy?” Clara asked, curiosity overwhelming her against her better judgement. “I mean, exactly?” 

“Well, no specifics or anything, but a good seven figures of wealthy.” 

“Oh.” Clara said, her mouth forming a perfectly round shape of surprise. She whistled in appreciation of the fact, already pondering ideas for the wedding and wondering precisely how far she could push the Doctor’s tolerance. 

“Yeah, oh. Look, I can courier you over a bank card for the account. The PIN is my dad’s birthday, anyway.” 

“Got it,” Clara confirmed. “We owe you for this, Kate.” 

“There’s two conditions.” Kate said before they could hang up, and Clara felt her heart still in her chest at what they may be, wondering what hoops she would have to jump through to please UNIT. 

“What…?” she asked nervously, and Kate laughed. 

“One: I’m invited to the wedding.” 

“Obviously. Deal.” The Doctor concurred without looking up, and Clara smiled at him, waiting for Kate to continue.

“Two: he gets you a really, really big ring.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clara extended her hand, letting the diamond band catch the light. “I like this one,” she decided. “Definitely.”

“Clara, you said that about the last three,” the Doctor complained in frustration. “Are you _sure_ about this one?” 

“Kate did say _really, really big_ …” Clara said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. “And this is…”

“Really, annoyingly big. Yep.” 

“I like it,” Clara repeated, widening her eyes at the Doctor and pouting just the tiniest bit. “Please?” 

He looked away from her and contemplated the display case they were stood by. After the first ten rings, the assistant had left them to their own devices, and truth be told, the Doctor wasn’t sure what was worse: being alone with Clara and the irritating, ceaselessly babbling youth, or being alone with Clara when she was giving him that look. He cleared his throat pensively, wondering how best to phrase his objections.

“It’s kind of big,” he began again, proceeding before she could interrupt: “I mean, practically. Wouldn’t you like that other one better?” He gestured to the ring she had cast aside, the one with two sapphires of perfect, TARDIS blue flanking a single diamond. 

“This one.” Clara insisted with certainty. “Absolutely this one.”

He sighed. “ _Fine._ But if you get it caught on things, don’t come crying to me.”

“You’re the _best_!” Clara exclaimed, jumping into his arms and kissing him spontaneously, her lips feather light on his for what felt like both too long and too short a time before she was pulling away, noting his slight blush with a hint of smugness.

“I bet you say that to all the aliens who finance your Tiffany rings.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, the Doctor returned to the shop, Clara’s engagement ring confined back to its box in his pocket. She had loved it for an afternoon, been irritated by it by the evening, and loathed it by the second night. “It keeps _catching on things,_ ” she whined, ignoring the Doctor’s self-satisfied smirk. “Why did we buy this one?”

He, of course, had grumbled about the entire business, telling her firmly that she wouldn’t be getting a new ring, that she had made her choice and she would face the consequences regarding the – very, very expensive – item of jewellery, but without real irritation. This morning, as she’d slept soundly, he’d decided that maybe he could do this one small thing for her: make sure that their marriage left her with something that he hoped was more beautiful than the memory of the face she had lovingly described as “weathered.” And so he had come back to the boutique, cap in hand, offering a chagrined smile to the assistant as he picked out the ring she had rejected before, turning it in critically in his fingertips as he checked it for perceived imperfections. Clara was worth only the best, that much he was certain of, and so the Doctor watched carefully as it was engraved, the two flawless blue stones flashing mesmerisingly as their larger and showier diamond counterpart glinted with the light of a thousand stars. 

When Clara awoke, she found a tiny, open box beside her on the pillow, the new ring gleaming at her from the black velvet depths, and when she slipped it, entranced, from the cushioning, she found three words etched neatly upon the inside.

_My Impossible Girl._

* * *

 

Shopping for the wedding dress was, of course, supposed to be the best part of planning any wedding. Clara knew that much: she’d watched enough reality TV to be certain that the dress was instrumental to the whole day. Somehow, however, the thought had only been filling her with an impending sense of dread, and she’d skirted around the issue for as long as possible, until she found herself, one rainy afternoon, being frogmarched into Blackpool’s most highbrow wedding boutique by her nan. She had tried to protest, but the elderly woman refused to take no for an answer, and so finally she had sunk, sulkily, onto a white satin chaise longue with a glass of champagne, watching her grandmother browse through the dresses with a look of fierce determination. 

The bell above the door rang and Clara looked up, praying for another customer, praying for someone else to arrive and take the heat off of her, but instead finding herself confronted with a curious trio of people: Kate Stewart, off-duty in jeans and a faded checked shirt, Osgood, garbed in a black leather jacket, and then… Nina. Clara felt her mood soar as she took in her best friend, leaping from the seat and propelling herself into the other girl’s arms. 

“Easy, Oswald,” Nina teased, hugging her best friend back. “I mean, you’re not marrying me, after all.” 

Clara looked up at Nina, wondering whether things could still be awkward between the pair of them after all the time that had elapsed. “Neen…” 

“I’m kidding, Clara. Now. Your nan called and said the guy is old but loaded, so let’s find you something that totally says ‘I have a sugar daddy,’ hey?” 

“I…” 

“No arguments.” Nina said firmly, and then strode away to assist Clara’s nan with her hunt for the perfect gown. 

“Hi,” Kate said, her expression coy. “I figured that since you failed on the really big ring front, I’d best come to supervise the dress.” 

“And I’m here in case of… emergency.” Osgood added, chewing her lip and looking to Kate uncertainly. 

“Such as?” Clara asked playfully, and Osgood laughed. 

“Chiffon based disaster. Or alien incursion. Whichever is more probable.”

“Well… if Nina’s involved, there won’t be any chiffon involved. What there will be is lots and lots of lace.” 

Clara’s prediction was, at least, half right. Nina had exhibited only five lace dresses to Clara before she realised that her best friend’s insistence of “no lace” was sternly meant, and from there it only escalated to clinging dresses that Clara loathed, until Osgood’s suggestion of chiffon was beginning to seem appealing. When, eventually, she could feel tears of frustration beginning to burn behind her eyes, she had pulled her ratty old t-shirt back on and stood in the centre of the shop floor, her hands on her hips and a furious expression on her face. 

“OK. So here’s the new rules. No lace, no clinging, no net, no chiffon, and for god _sake,_ nothing that’s going to make me feel even shorter.” She said fiercely.

Nina smirked in an infuriating manner. “So that rules out… all dresses.” 

“Piss off, Neen.” 

“I’m just _saying…_ ”

“Well don’t say, alright?” Clara snapped. “God, I wish mum was here… she’d be a damn sight more helpful than _you_ useless lot.” She turned away as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks: tears about the fact that this just _wasn’t fair_ , that her mum should be _here,_ helping her, but instead she was stuck with this motley crew of four women of differing tastes, and that was no help at all. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, striding away from the group as she tried to picture, for inspiration, what her mother had worn on her wedding day, the dress she had become so familiar with through photos and family stories, and suddenly it was _there,_ right before her.

The dress drew her eye like a magnet, her heart immediately fixed upon it with absolute instant certainty that this was the only gown that could make her happy. It was short, elegant, and classic, with a deep V-neck and half-length sleeves that somehow managed to render it both modest and sexy at the same time. It was, as her mum had described her own gown, _timeless_ , and the irony of the term was not lost on Clara as she considered it in awe, comparing it to her mother’s and finding enough similarities to be certain that this was the one. She pointed to it breathlessly, the assistant lifting it into the changing room, and without a word she stepped inside and slipped the dress on, ignoring the fervent whispering occurring between the women perched outside, knowing only that this was _the one_ , this was _the_ dress for her. 

As she stepped out of the cubicle, a hush fell over the room, and she took in her reflection with satisfaction, knowing that she had picked well, knowing that her heart had led her to the right choice. The length was perfect, the cut flattering, and she twirled slowly, allowing the skirt to flare as she took in the beaded detail at the waist, feeling a deep sense of contentment settle over her. 

“Well?” she asked, not caring about the answer, knowing that she would be buying this dress regardless of their approval but somehow craving it anyway. 

“It’s…” Kate began, but her nan interrupted her. 

“Your mother would have loved it.” she assured Clara, and Clara smiled at her grandmother in gratitude, leaning into her handbag and withdrawing the card that the Doctor had entrusted her with, so desperate to make the dress officially hers that she felt unable to wait even long enough to remove it before paying.

As she made her way over to the till, she felt a slender arm wrap around her waist, and then Nina was leaning up to whisper in her ear. 

“You look beautiful,” she murmured, and Clara felt herself blushing despite herself. “I can’t wait until the hen do.” 

“Hen do?” Clara asked in consternation, and Nina smirked maddeningly. 

“Oh yes, the hen do,” she repeated with glee. “Because what happens on a hen do, stays on the hen do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, I took inspiration for Clara's final engagement ring from [here](http://www.tiffany.co.uk/engagement/rings/three-stone-with-sapphire-side-stones?gridpos=36/5851), and her dress from [here](http://www.bhldn.com/shop-the-bride-wedding-dresses/prospere-gown/productoptionids/fbcaeb8b-b90b-4e9a-9313-32da085940dd).


	3. Hen Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was, she told herself, entirely Nina’s fault. She’d never meant to drink quite that much, but somehow she found herself in a club, nose to nose with her ex-girlfriend and incoherently drunk. What’s the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so_ enjoying writing this! Glad to know you're all enjoying reading too. Have some drunk Clara.

Clara was remembering why she had stopped going to hen dos. Her head was spinning in a way that – she had to admit – was not entirely unpleasant, her vision blurring at the edges as her blood pounded in her ears, and she was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that Nina was smiling at her from her seat on the opposite sofa, her hair tucked behind her ear as she appraised her drunken friend. 

“Wow, Oswald,” she said, with a low chuckle. “Drunk before you’ve even left the house. That takes me back a fair way.”

“S’your fault.” Clara managed, trying her level best not to slur her words and failing only marginally. “You know all ‘bout me and tequila.”

“Of course, darling,” Nina smirked and held up the almost-empty bottle in an evidential way. “Why else would I have brought it?” 

“Bitch,” Clara said, grinning at her best friend without a hint of malice. “Bitch, bitch, bitchy bitch.” 

“Is… are hen dos always like this?” Osgood asked nervously from her position on the floor, sipping her wine with a look of distaste as she looked between the two Lancastrians with uncertainty. “I mean… well, I know they are, but does Clara always get this… well, pissed?” 

“Clara is, invariably, totally crap at holding her drink,” Nina assured Osgood kindly, patting her on the head in a patronising manner. “Which is really sort of the point of the whole thing.” 

“I thought the point was celebrating the loving union between two people who are joining in holy matrimony…” Osgood said quietly, and Clara let out an abrupt, unbidden cackle, before clamping both hands over her mouth with a look of guilt and leaning back on the sofa, giggling through her palms. 

“Sorry!” she mumbled thickly, her mirth abating. “Sorry ev’ryone. Ignore me.” 

“We were,” Nina said dryly, before turning her attention back to Osgood and regarding her with a look of sympathy. “Now. Hen dos are all about getting the bride really, really smashed, and taking lots of embarrassing photos to show at the wedding reception. As the for the other boring bit… if you can still say matrimony, you haven’t had nearly enough to drink.” 

“But it’s eleven in the evening-” Osgood began to protest, only to be met with one of Nina’s renowned eye rolls. 

“Yes, it is. And do you know what that means?” 

“It means it’s time for bed,” Clara’s nan interjected with a deadpan expression, downing the last of her gin and tonic before getting to her feet and grinning around at the group. “ _Boring._ It means it’s party time for hens.” 

“Clara, babe, remind me why we invited your nan on your hen do?” Nina asked with mock seriousness, but Clara only beamed at her cheerfully, already too tipsy to pick up on her friend’s sarcastic tone. 

“Becauseeeeeeeee,” she said loudly, her tone implying the obviousness of her response. “My nan is a _ledge._ ”

Her grandmother grinned at the assessment and looked at Nina with barely-suppressed smugness, pulling on her coat. “ _That_ is why.” She said brightly, applying a final coat of lipstick in the mirror. “Also I can drink you young upstarts under the table, no sweat.” 

“Challenge accepted,” Nina asserted, helping Clara up and wrapping one arm around her friend’s waist for support, knowing Clara’s predisposition to drunken falls, especially when heels were involved. “Now, taxi, town, and then _maybe_ a strip club. Let’s see how things pan out, shall we?”

“Nina,” Clara warned, in what she hoped was a chastising voice, but her friend only laughed, and Clara opted for a change of mood instead, attempting to appeal to Nina’s wicked side. “Can we not jus’ do the last bit?”

“Now now,” Nina chided, patting Clara’s cheek with her free hand as they got into the taxi. “Let’s save that for much later, OK?” 

“Mm’k,” Clara concurred, snuggling her head into the hollow of her friend’s shoulder and smiling drunkenly as Nina passed a hip flask around the group, before taking a long swig of her own and then grimacing as the vodka burned the back of her throat. “God, Neen… it’s like you _wan’_ me to get para- paral- paralyt-” 

“Paralytic?” Nina supplied, and Clara nodded emphatically in agreement. “Me? Never. I just want you to have fun! We’ll have fun, won’t we? You trust me?” 

“Course I do,” Clara murmured, resting her hand on Nina’s thigh lightly in what she was dimly aware was a slightly-more-than-friendly manner. “You’re my _bestest bestest_ friend.” 

“And you’re a drunk mess, Oswald.” 

“Piss off,” Clara retorted cheerfully, and Nina laughed, placing her hand on top of Clara’s and squeezing. 

“You love it, darling.” 

“Only when it’s youuuuuuu.” Clara cooed, kissing her friend’s cheek, and Nina grinned as they tumbled out of the taxi into the bustle of town, Clara’s hand still clasped tightly in hers as she paid the driver and took in their surroundings with a practiced eye. “Right. I vote we start in Cameo, they’ve got a good bar and space to dance, then go to Spoons for something cheap, and then onto Halo last to get absolutely wankered. Also possibly laid. Excepting Clara.” 

“What she said.” Clara said confidently, trying to look like she knew what the plan was before giving up and pressing another fond kiss to Nina’s cheek. The small party followed Nina as she strutted past the entry queue of the club and smiled up at the bouncer in what she profoundly hoped was a seductive way. 

“Evening,” she said breezily, subtly adjusting her cleavage with her free hand and biting her lip. “My best friend is getting married next week-” 

“And?” the security guard asked sourly, glowering down at them and casting a condescending look in Clara’s grandmother’s direction. “Back of the line. _Ladies._ ” 

“Well, that’s the thing. Her fiancé is, like, super loaded. I mean. Look at her bling.” Nina dragged Clara’s hand up to wave it in his face, but he remained impassive in the face of the evidence. “Aww, c’mon. Cut us a break.” 

“I’ll buy _everybody_ drinkies!” Clara enthused, and that seemed to be reason enough for the bouncer to change his mind, unhooking the velvet rope and ushering them inside without a second glance. 

“Clara, I have mentioned that I really, really love your Doctor Strange, haven’t I? And by that I mean his massive bank balance?” Nina asked, clearly impressed, and Clara smiled serenely. 

“Nope,” she replied, before frowning slightly as she hopped into a barstool beside her best friend, Osgood wandering off with her grandmother in search of a room with a better music selection. “I kinda thought you were jealous.” 

“Jealous?” Nina scoffed, attempting a casual tone but falling somewhat short. “Clara, babe, what happened with us was years ago, you don’t… it didn’t mean that much.” 

Clara, suddenly abruptly sober, scowled deeply, leaning across the bar and ordering a large double vodka to avoid having to respond to Nina for another few seconds as she collected her thoughts. “That’s just fucking _rude,_ Neen, there’s no need to be a dick about it…” 

“I’m not being a dick about it. The whole point was that there wasn’t any _dick_ involved. But then suddenly you’ve started worshipping cock again, first that Dan bloke and now the wrinkly weirdo…” 

“You have _no right_ to talk about him like that!” Clara all but shouted, downing her drink and slamming the glass back down on the bar. “He’s… you don’t know fuck all about him!”

“No, but I know a golddigger when I see one,” Nina said snidely, and Clara launched herself at her best friend, Nina’s hand wrapping around her wrist before her hand could make contact with her cheek. “Play nice, darling.” 

“Fuck you.” Clara spat, but Nina only smirked all the more infuriatingly. 

“I already did,” she breathed, her lips millimetres from Clara’s cheek, before pulling away and smiling somewhat provocatively. “Come on. We can’t hate _fuck_ , so let’s hate _dance_.”

Clara considered this proposal for a moment through narrowed eyes, weighing up the potential risks of being near to Nina when she was in this mood, before drunkenly throwing caution to the wind and following her to the dancefloor. She watched her best friend begin to move to the music, her hips moving rhythmically as she gyrated in time to the beat, holding out her hand to Clara and encouraging her to follow her lead.

“Fuck it.” Clara muttered under her breath, taking Nina’s hand and letting the music overwhelm her senses.

 

* * *

 

By the time they stumbled from the dark, humid interior of Cameo into the warm summer air of Blackpool seafront, Clara was well and truly inebriated, her head swimming from the influence of copious amounts of spirits and the intense heat of the club. As she staggered along the promenade in the direction of Wetherspoons, one hand clasped in Nina’s and the other in her grandmother’s, she felt suddenly euphoric, throwing her head back and laughing as she contemplated her future – and her past, and her present – with the Doctor.

“I’m getting fucking _married_!” she whooped, bursting into joyous laughter and dancing away from her friends, spinning giddily in a circle before toppling over in her heels, landing in a heap on the rough tarmac of the pavement with a drunken giggle. She sat for a moment in stunned silence before looking up at her three companions with childlike surprise. “Oopsie.”

“God, Oswald, you fucking mess,” Nina muttered with little irritation, leaning down and helping her friend up with care, examining the graze on Clara’s knee and the trickle of blood that was dribbling slowly down the curve of her calf. “Come on, you pisshead, into Spoons.” 

Half walking, half being carried, Clara staggered through the double doors into the pub’s interior, Nina steering her into a stool before reaching across the bar for a wad of napkins and pressing them to Clara’s leg to mop up the worst of the blood. “There, all better.” 

“You’re such a good friend,” Clara murmured, placing her hand under Nina’s chin and tilting her head up to look her in the eyes with gratitude. “Look at you, being all kind ‘n shit.” 

Nina smiled in response, straightening up until she was level with Clara and then leaning in to kiss her in a way that felt achingly familiar. Too shocked to move, Clara froze as Nina slipped her tongue into her mouth, responding automatically to the stimulus without real consideration of what was happening, who she was with or why she shouldn’t be doing this, Nina’s hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, and oh _gods_ … 

“Clara?!” a furious Scottish voice interjected, and she came to her senses sharply, pulling away from Nina and taking in the sight of the Doctor, a half-empty pint clutched in one hand and a look of fury on his face. “What’s going on?” 

“Doctor,” Clara stammered, her drunk brain floundering for an explanation of the situation that wouldn’t invoke his wrath. “This is Nina, my… friend.”

“That didn’t look very friendly,” he scowled at Nina as he spoke. “What are you doing with my fiancé?” 

“She’s my friend, OK? Like, just cos she’s marrying you, you don’t fucking _own_ her.” Nina snarled, squaring up to him, and his glare intensified as he looked down at her. 

“I don’t _own_ her, but I think you not sticking your tongue down her throat would be preferable.” 

“I’m right _here_ ,” Clara interjected uselessly, trying to defuse the tension between the two of them. “Me and Nina… Doctor, it’s fine.” 

“No it’s not fine, Clara!” the Doctor said hotly, looking to her with worry. “She can’t just do that, you didn’t…” he looked distressed. “You didn’t _say_ she could.” 

“Well, sorry fucknut, but Clara is _my_ best friend, and I know when she wants to be kissed!” Nina snapped impatiently, and the Doctor raised his eyebrows in response to her fury. 

“She’s _bleeding_ ,” he emphasised, indicating Clara’s leg. “That isn’t exactly romantic.” 

“Oh, what, cos you’ve got down on one knee and bought her off with some fancy ring, you think you know more about Clara than me? You think you know romance? Well go fuck yourself, old man.” Nina’s tone was vitriolic, and the Doctor’s glare deepened as he looked between Clara’s injury and Nina’s unrepentant expression. 

“I may not purport to know more about Clara,” he managed through gritted teeth. “But I know at least what’s good for her. I don’t let her get into a drunken _state,_ or fall over and harm herself.” 

“What?!” Nina’s tone was incredulous as she stared up the Doctor in amazement. “You’re joking, yeah? You’ve known her for what? All of five seconds, but you’re an expert on Clara and alcohol? Sorry pal, nope.” 

“I know that she gets reckless, and I know that _you should be trying to protect her from herself_ ,” he argued, his mind flashing back to their celebrations of New Year, to Clara’s inebriation and her confident assertion that she could fly, that she could definitely fly, and then... he flinched away from the memory. At least he had been there that time, at least he had managed to prevent a catastrophe, whereas now… now she was hurt, and it was at least partially his fault for not thinking ahead. “That’s all I ask of you, to protect her.” 

“What? And you own her now? Sorry mate, but I got here first.” Nina said aggressively, and the Doctor surveyed her with a look of pure disdain before turning on his heel and walking out of the pub, slamming the door behind him. Nina’s mouth turned up into a triumphant smirk, and she turned her gaze to Clara with jubilation. 

“I…” Clara looked at Nina with confusion as her drunk brain strove to connect the dots. “You knew he was going to be here, didn’t you?” 

“I may have… had an idea… yeah…” Nina confessed reluctantly, refusing to meet Clara’s gaze and instead shuffling from foot to foot. “But it’s for your own g-”

“Fuck you, Nina. Just _fuck you._ ” Clara spat, limping out onto the promenade and looking around for the Doctor, finding him leaning against a wall a little way away, brooding as he stared fixedly out over the Pleasure Beach. “Doctor?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I ah… sorry I got cross,” he mumbled shyly, embarrassed by his actions. “Didn’t mean to. She seems… nice.”

“Doctor, it’s… we’ve known each other years, we dated for a while but now… it’s not like that, she was just trying to wind you up.” 

“Oh. Why?” 

Clara sighed and leant against the wall beside him as she offered up the simple explanation: “She’s jealous.” 

“Of what? Of us?” 

“Yeah, of us.”

“Oh.” He frowned, trying to understand the complexity of human emotions. “That’s… oh.” 

“Does that bother you?” Clara asked, looking up and meeting his gaze with a concerted effort as she felt the alcohol coursing through her system. 

“Tiny bit.” 

“Why?!” she asked him incredulously, looking him up and down and then gesturing in all-encompassing manner. “It’s not like this is actually a thing.”

“Clara, I-”

“You don’t have _any_ right to be jealous of me, or my friends, or my life, or tell people to protect me-” 

“Clara! I know I don’t, I just… _I care about you_. I don’t want you to get hurt, or taken advantage of. I have a duty of care!” The Doctor exploded, and while it was unexpected it was not entirely unwelcome. Clara felt herself blush, grateful for the darkness of the night and the concealment it afforded her. 

“Oh.” She managed after a short pause.

“Yeah. And it would be nice to stand up and say ‘I do’ in front of a room full of people who like me, not a room full of people who want to try and… you know. With you. To make me cross.” 

“Oh.”

“Plus I don’t like seeing you hurt, and knowing that I should’ve protected you.” He confessed, affixing her with a look of concern.

“You don’t… you don’t have to protect me, Doctor. Nina didn’t _make_ me do anything, I just got carried away. Honestly, I’m fine.” Clara assured him, smiling up at him. 

“I know I don’t _have_ to, but I have a duty of care, Clara, I _want_ to protect you from things. It’s kind of my job.” 

“Doctor…” 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning away, but she seized his hand and pulled him back to her, suddenly ashamed for having lost her temper with him. “Really sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she whispered, kissing him gently and then resting her head on his chest and letting his heartbeat soothe her. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” 

“Being a great fake fiancé.” 

“Soon to be fake husband,” he reminded her, and Clara groaned a little, burying her face in his shirt. “What?! I’m not _that_ bad!” 

“I’m just anticipating this hangover, and then the wedding hangover.” Clara clarified, meshing her fingers through his. “Honestly, you’re great.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to her hair. “I’ll take that.”


	4. I Do, I Don't, I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the wedding comes around, but can the Doctor go through with the plan, or will he get cold feet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I am a _tiny_ bit channelling drunk Clara tonight, but because I love you all, here is chapter four! Thank you for all the wonderful feedback!

Clara paced the lobby of the church, adjusting her hair self-consciously and examining her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye for the thousandth time that morning. 

“Darling, you look fine,” Dave assured her with a warm smile, and she tried to return the gesture, despite the butterflies in her stomach as realisation crept up on her that she was actually getting married. To the Doctor. Despite the meticulous planning of the last four weeks, it was only now as she stood here with her dad that things finally felt real. It no longer felt like the game that her and the Doctor had been able to tell themselves they were playing; no longer a series of actions that felt as though they had no real consequence. Everything they had arranged had been for this moment. For her dad.

“Thanks dad,” she murmured, trying to silence her anxiety-filled inner monologue as she smoothed her dress down with one hand, trying not to fidget too conspicuously as they waited. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past, love. Stop stressing, he’ll be here.”

Clara scowled at her reflection. The Doctor should’ve arrived fifteen minutes ago, but instead he was messing up the timing of her meticulously planned day with his punctuality – there was irony there, she realised – and thus she’d been stuck in this stuffy room for far too long for her liking, praying that he hadn’t got cold feet and that he wasn’t going to stand her up at the altar. _Well,_ she thought sardonically. _Whatever you call “not showing up to our marriage of convenience.”_  

“Being late is kind of the bride’s prerogative,” she tried to joke, her tone falling flat, and it was then that her phone chirped from her dad’s pocket, filling her with equal measures of hope and dread. She felt her heart twist in her chest and held her hand out automatically, checking the message as soon as her dad placed the phone in her palm, dread flooding through her as she took in the blunt typed words. 

_I’m outside. Need to see you. Now._

“It’s ah… I’ll be right back.” She muttered, too preoccupied to notice her dad’s confusion, instead pushing her way outside through the heavy door and finding herself confronted by the Doctor, his face in sombre contrast with the clear, blue expanse of the August sky. Her stomach sank as she took in his serious expression, the way his eyebrows were fixed together in a pensive scowl and the agitated way his hands knotted together, and she knew, instinctively, what he was going to say before he’d even managed a single word. 

“No, no, no,” she said pre-emptively, holding up her hands. “Don’t you _dare_ do this.”

“Clara, I…”

“You _promised,_ ” she hissed, drawing herself up to her full height as her face contorted with fury. “You absolutely _promised_ , I thought we had an understanding…" 

“Is that supposed to be scary?” the Doctor quipped, smirking as he attempted to alleviate the tension. “I can’t believe I’m getting married to a tic-tac…” he grimaced when he noticed her expression and realised that his humour was falling short, feeling the sudden need to make her laugh and cushion the impending blow that his words would have. “Seriously, Clara…” 

“Did you just drag me out here to be mean about my appearance? Because if so, don’t even _think_ about it, because I woke up at 6am for makeup, and I am _exhausted_ ,” she scowled at him. “So just _don’t._ ” 

“Well…” he said unwillingly, realising he was walking a fine line and that he needed to keep on her good side. “You look nice.” He squinted at her in a silent appraisal and decided to make another attempt at humour. “Bit wide. But nice.” 

“Rude,” she chided half-heartedly, glad to be back on familiar ground, jabbing him in the chest with a finger and feeling cautiously optimistic that he didn’t appear to be freaking out about the whole thing. “Besides, this is supposed to be bad luck.” 

“Don’t believe in bad luck. And besides, it’s not like we haven’t had enough, so we should just get used to it. We _are_ about to spend eternity together."

“Oh, are we?” she asked, eyeing him apprehensively. “I thought this was you getting cold feet.” 

“Well, now you mention it-“ 

“Oh for _fuck sake_!” Clara exploded, smacking him in the chest with her bouquet as she spoke. “My dad is _dying_ , OK? He is goddamn dying. He is literally going to die in front of me, so can you just _suck it up_ and make him happy for the last few months of his bloody life and stop acting like being married to me would be so terrible?” 

The Doctor looked down at the scattered blue and white petals at his feet, then looked back up at his companion with guilt in his eyes. “Clara… I’m sorry about your dad, I truly am. But this is a lie! You’re giving him a lie! A sham!” 

“ _Please!_ ” she begged, involuntarily bursting into tears as she spoke, and the Doctor surveyed her with a look of mild horror as he contemplated a course of action, feeling his resolve tremble as he offered her a handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes. He attempted a stern look, but he could feel his determination wavering. 

“No… don’t do the tear thing… it’s like bursting a damn. Entirely unfair.” 

“Oh for god sake,” she muttered, tugging at her engagement ring in a desperate attempt to remove it. It sparkled at her almost smugly, refusing to budge past her knuckle as she strained, and she remembered waking up to find it beside her, the Doctor slipping it over her finger and it all feeling so _real,_ so _right._ She felt tears welling up again as she realised that she had been a complete fool to expect anything different. Turning away from him, she fought to keep her voice level, giving up on removing the ring. “Just forget it…” 

“ _Fine_ ,” he snapped, his willpower crumbling. “I’ll do it. But for your dad. Not for you.” 

Clara surveyed him with a long, apprehensive look before bursting into a radiant smile, leaning up to kiss him as triumph coursed through her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she enthused, wrapping her arms around his waist and grinning up at him, kissing him again quickly in thanks. “You’re the best.” 

“I know I am. Do we have to do the kissing thing often?” he grimaced a little as he spoke, wrinkling his nose at the prospect, but Clara only giggled. 

“Yes. Including in front of people later, so try to look a bit more enthusiastic about it.” She patted his cheek and smiled light-heartedly, feeling her heart soar in relief. 

“Fantastic,” he said sarcastically, but Clara only gave him a disapproving look, too euphoric to rebuke him. 

“I’m an amazing kisser, shut up.” 

“Not saying you aren’t!” the Doctor protested, and she raised an eyebrow at him in a delicate challenge. 

“Well then. Be nice.” She scolded, flicking specks of lint off his lapels and straightening his tie to her satisfaction. “Now get inside. People will think that we aren’t coming.” 

“Yes boss…” the Doctor capitulated, pulling away from her and dropping a single, unexpected kiss to her forehead. “See you in there. I’ll be the one at the altar.” 

Clara smiled despite herself and stepped back into the small anteroom, taking her dad’s hand and squeezing it confidently. “Ready.” 

“Are you sure?” Dave asked, his face clouded with concern. “Is he…?”

“He’s here, yep. Let’s do this.”

“Love,” Dave said softly, his tone taking her by surprise before he embraced her and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Your mum… she would be so proud of you. Our wonderful, fantastic daughter. I love you so much, and she did too. You’ll always be our little girl. Married or not married.” 

“Daddy,” Clara managed, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, kissing his cheek tenderly. “I love you too.” 

Dave smiled in response, his eyes misting over with emotion, and he offered her his arm with pride, feeling her hand rest upon his elbow, and together they stepped out into the church: walking slowly down the aisle arm in arm, him beaming with pride and her flushed with happiness. Clara gazed around at her assembled friends and family, trying to recall every last detail of the moment, before finally looking up and seeing the Doctor, stood tall in his suit beside Rigsy, who she had insisted on making best man, despite the Time Lord’s half-hearted protestations. 

Even though the Doctor had seen Clara only moments before, and even though he knew that this entire ceremony was simply for convenience’s sake, he still felt his hearts skip a beat as he took in the sight of her, her face radiant as she approached him almost shyly, her flowers clutched in one hand as she met his gaze and beamed. When she reached the altar, Dave placed her hand in his, and he leant down to whisper in her ear: “You look beautiful.”

The surprise of his words turned her cheeks a deeper shade of pink, and she squeezed his hand in response, looking up at him with wide hazel eyes as she beamed at him warmly. The vicar was speaking, that much he was vaguely aware of, but he tried to focus his attention on Clara, committing to memory the way she looked, the feel of her small hand in his, and the way she smiled bashfully as she repeated her vows. More than anything, he tried to commit to memory the feel of her lips on his as they were pronounced man and wife, and the secret smile she gave him as she pulled away, her eyes full of love and happiness. 

Once the confetti had been thrown and the photos taken, once hands had been shaken and good wishes offered, the Doctor climbed into the back of the hired Rolls Royce with his hand in Clara’s, wrapping an arm around her waist in triumph as they sank back into the leather seats with a laugh.

“Should’ve brought the TARDIS,” she teased breathlessly, shaking confetti from her hair and winking at him. “Might’ve been easier.” 

“Bit conspicuous,” the Doctor countered with a grimace. “Did we do OK, do you reckon?” 

“I think so. Dad and Gran both cried, so we must’ve.” 

“Good to know. So…” he hesitated, attempting to gauge her mood. “Do you want your wedding gift now, or later?” 

“I get a gift?” Clara asked in surprise, looking the Doctor up and down with curiosity. “What is it? And _where_ is it? Are those pockets bigger on the inside?”

“Maybe…” the Doctor said mischievously, producing a thick cream envelope from an inner pocket and handing it to Clara, watching as she turned it over in her hands and saw her name inscribed on the front. “Open it.” 

She looked from him to the envelope and hesitated for a beat, then slit it open with open, taking out a single, folded sheet of thick cream writing paper and weighing it between her fingertips nervously. As she unfolded it, she felt her heart flutter as she took in the familiar handwriting, suddenly comprehending what she was holding, and the Doctor smiled at her a little anxiously before looking away to offer her privacy to read the words.

 

_My dearest Clara,_

_I’m not entirely sure where this bloke is from – he said the future, fancy that! – but he’s told me quite reliably that he’s getting married to you pretty soon, and so I’m indulging this little whim of his. (Although I will say that he seems rather old for you, love!) He certainly does seem very sweet on you, and he promises me – hand on his heart – that he’ll take good care of you, so I’m trying not to get too worked up about the whole thing, or the fact that I’ve been strictly instructed to write this letter for you_ in the future _. You’re asleep, at the moment, for me, aged seven, having just got back from the zoo with Brownies, so it seems very strange to think that one day in twenty-two years you’ll be reading these words on your wedding day – it must be very fancy in the future, if you can do things like pop back and visit the boring old 1990s whenever you’d like!_

_But never mind that, because the Doctor tells me that you’ll be a teacher one day, and the thought of this brings me untold joy, darling – especially as I know how caring and bright you can be, and I know that you will make a truly fantastic teacher for some very lucky children. Future You sounds like an amazing person, and it is with deepest impatience that I wait to meet you and see for myself the wonderful, kind, intelligent woman I can already see you becoming day by day. I love you with all my heart, Clara, and know that I will be with you on your wedding day no matter what. My brilliant daughter. Marriage is a breath-taking adventure, my darling, so enjoy every moment of it._

_Love always,_

_Mum_

Clara wiped away a tear, sitting in silence for a moment before leaning over and placing a kiss on the Doctor’s cheek, unable to express her feelings adequately with words. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You don’t… thank you, so much.” 

“It was my pleasure,” he murmured, kissing her hair before resting his lips against her temple. “I thought… it’d be nice.” 

“You can be very sweet; you know that?” Clara told him softly, smiling at him as she refolded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket for safekeeping. 

“Yes, but don’t tell everyone, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” 

“I know. Defender of worlds. Well, my _husband_ is a big ol’ softie.” 

“You’re going to keep saying that to annoy me, aren’t you?” the Doctor said with resignation, and Clara laughed.

“Does it annoy you?” she asked with mock innocence, poking her tongue out at him. “I shall have to say it _much_ more. Husband.”

“I hate you,” he muttered under his breath as they pulled up at the reception venue, but Clara only smiled at him more broadly, taking his hand in hers. “A lot.” 

“Shut up,” she instructed firmly. “And be good.” 

“Yes boss.”

 

* * *

 

The song was soft and without lyrics, so Clara stared up the Doctor as they waltzed slowly around the dance floor, swaying in time to the piece that he had chosen for their first dance. The melody was low and sweet, washing over her like water, the gentle instrumentals filling her with a curious sense of familiarity that she struggled to place as he twirled her with a grace that surprised her. Aware of being the centre of attention, but finding himself somehow not caring, the Doctor looked down and met her gaze, smiling at her blissful expression and stroking his thumb over the curve of her hip, his other hand resting lightly in hers as they danced. 

“I wrote this,” he said quietly, watching her eyes widen in surprise as she took in his words and the sentiment behind the song. “And I named it after you.”

She smiled at him, too overcome with emotion to speak, and nestled her head into his chest, listening to his twin heartbeat and feeling a sense of peace consume her. For a moment, she was able to forget her family and friends watching them, forget her father’s illness and the entire pretence of the wedding, and she pressed her lips gently into his shirt as she wept happy tears. “Thank you,” she murmured in response to his endless kindnesses. “For everything.”

 

* * *

 

The morning after the wedding, Clara stretched luxuriously in their hotel bed before sitting up, looking around for the Doctor in the half-lit room as she did so. He was sat, stiffly, in the armchair of the room, unmoved from the position he had taken up last night when they had left the party behind them, his eyes fixed on her as she stirred. He had insisted on sleeping separately to her, insisted that he didn’t _need_ sleep, and so she had capitulated and nodded off under his gaze, which suddenly felt too intense, even in the spacious room.

“That’s… kind of creepy, you know,” she teased sleepily, yawning as she spoke. “The staring.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned his face away as she sat up, running her hands through her hair and rolling her head on her shoulders to clear away the fogginess of sleep. “I…” 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door and she smiled at him broadly, surprise lighting up her face. “You ordered us breakfast!” she exclaimed, bounding across the room in anticipation of his uncharacteristic gesture and flinging the door wide before he could dispute her assumption, watching her freeze as she was confronted by her gran’s tear-stained face. 

“Gran?” Clara asked, her voice trembling, the reality of their situation flooding back to her. “What is it?” 

“Clara, he…” the old lady managed, her words choked with emotion. “Your dad… he… in the night…” 

The Doctor crossed the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around Clara as her knees gave way and her world fell apart, taking her weight as shock froze her face and dammed her tears. 

“No,” she whispered, barely noticing his arms around her as he guided her to a chair, barely noticing her gran’s hand in hers, too shocked to feel anything other than denial of the truth. “No…” 

“He was at peace, love, and he got… he got his wish…” her gran told her, her voice trembling despite herself, clasping Clara’s hand in hers reassuringly as they dissolved into tears together, and the Doctor suddenly felt intrusive in their moment of grief, an outsider witnessing a private moment. 

“I’ll ah…” the Doctor made as if to leave, but Clara seized his hand tightly with her free one, refusing to let go and tugging him back to her side. 

“Stay,” she commanded, her words desperate. “Please.” 

He nodded in concession, sitting beside her and brushing his lips against her hair in a tender gesture. “I’ll stay, love,” he promised her, feeling a sudden sense of duty to Clara, a sudden desire to help share her emotional burden. “I’ll stay.” 

“Promise?” Clara asked him pleadingly, and he pressed her hand to his lips as he made up his mind, vowing to do what was right.

“I promised, didn’t I? For better or worse.”


	5. Couldn't Dam That River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Clara struggles to cope in the wake of her father’s death, the Doctor tries to offer her support in the form of a shoulder to cry on. In the meantime, his guilt about their wedding is threatening to consume him, and he decides to make an important phone call to a certain archaeologist…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this! I'm glad you're all enjoying it!
> 
> Chapter title from Couldn't Dam That River, by Alice in Chains.

The Doctor sat stoically beside Clara for the duration of the funeral service, her hand gripping his so tightly he feared she may break something. Her head was held high, her tears sliding silently down her cheeks without impediment as she refused to give in to weeping, determined not to allow herself such a public display of weakness, and so she remained on the uncomfortable pew, motionless as a statue as she cried. Even when she stood to deliver the eulogy that she had compiled – in fits and starts, in stolen moments at 3am when she awoke crying for the father she had lost – she remained cool and collected, her tears barely catching at her voice as she read unwaveringly from the folded piece of paper in front of her. There was laughter from the congregation, the dabbing of a few eyes, but his Clara – for she was, in his eyes, always _his_ Clara – remained impassive, her bravery never faltering as she refused to cow to the weight of her grief.

To those who did not know the truth, they would think perhaps that she did not care, that this ordeal had not laid its mark upon her, or that she had shrugged it aside mindlessly without consideration. The Doctor alone knew the fault in those assumptions, for it was _he_ who lay beside her in the small hours of the morning as she wept, _he_ who she allowed herself to unravel in front of, and _he_ who knew how to offer her solace from the pain that threatened to consume her completely. 

It was towards the end of the service that he slipped a handkerchief from his pocket and laid it upon her lap, watching as she looked down at it in confusion, and then back up to him, before probing at her cheeks with her fingertips experimentally. Her mouth formed a silent _oh_ of realisation, and she picked up the small square of cloth and dabbed at her face with it, before taking his hand in a meticulously thought out gesture of solidarity that the Doctor knew was for the benefit of the assembled mourners: the grieving daughter and her strong, wordless husband, her pillar of reassurance, but he knew only that the lack of emotion behind her action invoked a curious feeling in his chest that he could not quite name. 

As they left the church, he slipped his arm around her waist – so narrow before, now sharp with the edges of her ribs, thinned from long evenings of her staring at him with hollow eyes as he begged her to eat – in a gesture that he hoped was more genuine than hers, planting a single kiss in her dark hair as he led her out into a sunny afternoon that seemed too bright for the sombre occasion. She slipped on a pair of dark glasses – a calculated decision, to avoid meeting his gaze and to avoid the glare of the sun that didn’t seem to warm her aching heart – and began to murmur words of thanks to her fellow mourners, ignoring his presence despite his refusal to leave her side. He nodded in gracious thanks, shook hands and offered platitudes for a loss he had not fully come to terms with himself, his own experiences failing to provide any knowledge of how to treat Clara, other than with the kind of gentle, quiet calm that he had craved so absolutely following his bereavements. There was no way to compare losing your people to losing a father, that much he knew, and so he did what little he could, what little Clara would let him do, and hoped that would be enough. 

When their duties were attended to and Clara was seated beside him in the privacy of the back of the long, black car that she had insisted upon hiring, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, before turning it so the palm cupped his cheek as he tried unsuccessfully to meet her gaze. “Clara,” he said softly but firmly. “Clara, look at me.” 

“I am.” She insisted, her tone detached, and he reached up and gently but decisively pulled the glasses from her face, folding them into his pocket and watching how her eyes darted around the space, unwilling to look him in the face and see the pity he was trying his best to hide. 

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

“You can’t do anything,” she said bitterly. “Except play your part.” 

“That’s what I’m doing,” he murmured, meshing his fingers through hers and moving their clasped hands to the space between them, knowing not to crowd her when she was in this mood. “But you aren’t making it easy.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry my _father just died_ ,” Clara snapped, snatching her hand away from his. “Sorry for that _massive inconvenience_ to us getting a goddamn divorce, or an annulment, or whatever the fuck space lawyers offer couples like us. Don’t worry, Doctor. It’ll all be over soon, then you can go back to having fun in all of time and space without a boring little _wife_.” 

The words tore at his chest more than he knew they should’ve. He knew what this was: that this was only ever supposed to be a favour to Clara, and it was only ever for her father’s benefit, but somehow her words still hurt him. He had once, in his previous incarnation, reminded himself often of the dangers of spending too much time around her, with her wide hazel eyes and her small, secret smiles; he had thought that he was doing them both a service when he had limited their time together to one day a week, until she had blown that apart with the commencement of her damned _matrimonial_ plan. He was a fool to think he was above the intoxicating power of Clara Oswald, a fool to think that he would never allow her to get inside his head, because he found himself falling further and further under her spell with every passing second. 

He blinked at her in slight stupefaction. “So you still want to-”

“Yes of course I do,” she hissed. “You think I’m enjoying this any more than you are?” 

“Enjoying what?” her grandmother said, as she opened the car door and slid smoothly into the seat opposite them. “The funeral? They’re not renowned for their levels of amusement. You did well love.” She leant over and patted Clara’s knee, taking in the couple’s terse body language with some curiosity. “There, there. Such rotten timing, I know love, but John’s stuck with you through this, I’m sure he’d stick with you through anything. So committed.”

“Yes, he is,” Clara said through gritted teeth, before forcing a small, chagrined smile. “I’m sure he will.” 

The Doctor opened his mouth to interject, to offer an assurance that he would _indeed_ be there for Clara throughout her time of need, but she twisted her foot subtly until the sharp point of her heel dug into his instep, and he fell into a brooding silence at once. For the remainder of the drive to the wake, he examined his hands pointedly, trying to consider why he was feeling what he was feeling. This arrangement was nothing more than a practicality, so he failed to understand why he felt so irrationally opposed to the prospect of ending their union, or so opposed to the idea of Clara ceasing to be his wife. 

“Doctor?” Clara said impatiently, clicking her fingers in front of his face to snap him from his reverie, and he realised that they were parked in the driveway of her father’s house.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in confusion, looking around them. “Where’s your…” 

“Nan went inside already. Look, I’m sorry, OK?” 

“What for?” 

“Being a bitch about things. We _will_ get a divorce. OK? I promise you, as soon as this all blows over, we can.”

“Oh.” The Doctor muttered, casting his eyes down. “That’s… fine.” 

“Well then.” Clara took his hand with a small smile and leant in to kiss his cheek. “As long as we’re clear.”

“We are,” the Doctor assured her gruffly. “Crystal.” 

With that, he pushed open the car door and stepped out into the blazing heat, feeling Clara’s presence behind him but scarcely caring, his hearts racing at the prospect of losing her in any respect. He had only been Clara’s legal husband for two weeks, but he felt curiously protective of her, determined to prevent any harm from coming to her, and while he tried to tell himself that a divorce – even one as pragmatic as theirs would be – would hurt her, he knew in reality that it would only hurt _him_. Despite his selfish wish to keep Clara by his side, he knew that their marriage would only put her in more unnecessary danger than her role as his friend already had, and his mind provided a helpful image of Clara in chains, bleeding from the head, that he flinched away from reflexively.

He sighed inwardly, considering how his marriage to River had damaged _her_ beyond all recognition, tearing her from her parents and shaping her into a weapon, and he felt guilt threaten to overwhelm him as he allowed thoughts of her to consume him, thoughts of the hurt he had inflicted upon her… and not least the thought that she knew nothing of this wedding, even if it was only, as he had heartlessly called it, a sham.

He would phone her and tell her, he decided, if only to exonerate some of his guilt. It would simply be a question of finding the appropriate moment, the appropriate phrasing and the appropriate location in deep space, one so remote that even the relentlessly determined archaeologist couldn’t reach it.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor looked down at the splotchy, scrawled note clutched in his palm. He’d planned the entire conversation, with mathematical provisions for every potential outcome, and all he had to do now was call River and explain the wedding thing. _Well_. The Scottish thing, and then the wedding thing. 

He took a deep breath and pulled the monitor around to him, examining the divorce papers he’d found online and experiencing a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d found them two weeks ago, on the night of the funeral, but he’d tried to push them from his mind, tried not to think of his and Clara’s comfortable, not-quite-domestic arrangement coming to an end or how it made him feel. He sighed and tried to work up the courage of what to say to… well, could he call River his _wife_ now? His _other_ wife, perhaps? The precise terminology eluded him. He ran his hands through his hair, picking up the phone before he could stall any further, and dialled the familiar number with trepidation. Sinking into his armchair with the phone pressed to his ear, he tried to still his racing hearts as he listened to the ceaseless ringing. 

 _Come on_ , he prayed. _Pick up, River, please, come on…_

“Hello sweeties. You’ve reached Professor Song. I’m probably out with my hubby dearest, or being a bad, bad girl, so if you want to punish me, do leave a message and I’ll get back to you, as long as you don’t tell my husband. If you’re one of those funny little guards from Stormcage, do be a dear and stop fussing. I’ll be back in two ticks. Kisses.” 

He swore under his breath in Gallifreyan as he realised that this was the one situation he hadn’t considered, the one outcome he hadn’t planned for, and he scowled to himself, making a mental note not to mention that. He knew how amusing River would find it. 

“River!” he tried to say with enthusiasm, his tone falsely positive. “It’s just me, checking in. Only I guess… well, you don’t know, do you, who _me_ is, so it’s urm… well, it’s your husband. The Doctor husband, not any of the… well, yeah. It’s the Doctor. Just… there was a bit of an upgrade, so now I’m… well, sort of Scottish, and quite angry-looking. Well, at least, Clara says I’m angry-looking, have you met Clara? What am I… of course you have, well, anyway, she thinks I look very cross, but obviously not that cross, because well… ah, shit.” He took a deep breath. “We got married, River, and it’s just a sort of, pretendy thing to make her family happy for a while but we really got married, and I thought I should probably tell you about it. I know you’re going to go mad, so I’ve parked us out in deep space until you’ve calmed d-”

The TARDIS doors burst open with a bang, and oh _gods,_ there she was, clad in a knee-length trench coat that clung to her in a manner that was _entirely_ unfair, a gun held casually in one hand as she surveyed him with the kind of look that would burn galaxies. 

“Married?” she asked coldly, cocking an eyebrow at him in a way that even he understood to be a threat. “To Clara?” 

“How-” the Doctor began, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as she strode over to him, affixing him with a pitying gaze as he tried desperately to find the words to express his apology, to convey to her how truly sorry he was and to explain the situation.

“Wibbly-wobbly timey wimey,” River said sweetly by way of explanation, smiling at him before raising her empty hand and slapping him hard in the face, sending him stumbling backwards into the console. “ _Dearest_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo! A wild River appears! Sorry about the length of this chapter, the next will be much longer.


	6. River Stay Away from The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River isn’t happy with the Doctor, that much is abundantly clear… but then Clara feels the need to get involved, and everything seems to blow up in slow motion. Unsure how to rectify his mistakes, the Doctor tries to placate both women, but somehow that only serves to make matters worse…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, because I was asked _so_ nicely by The Driver, and because I'm finally writing again, this week you get a SECOND chapter of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it, it was definitely one of my favourites to write!
> 
> Chapter title from "River Stay Away from The Door" by Frank Sinatra. (Y'all are enjoying the rubbish river puns in the chapter titles, admit it.)

“You didn’t need to slap me…” the Doctor muttered sulkily, clutching his cheek and backing away from River, placing the console between them like a shield. 

“Oh, but I did. Because imagine how _tremendously_ joyous it is when you’re sat in a glorious little bar on Valentine’s Day in 2589, feeling rather sad about being alone, missing your husband, wondering what he’s doing and whether he’d like a saucy text, when all of a sudden you get a wonderful phone message telling you that he’s _married someone else._ ” River smiled sweetly at him as she spoke, and he felt a sudden, swooping sense of guilt as he realised how inconsiderate he had been in regard to this entire business. 

“I…” words failed him as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I’m uh…”

“Let me guess. You’re _sorry._ ” 

“I’m… urm… yeah. Sorry.” He mumbled, looking to the console fixedly, feeling a flush of shame creep over his cheeks. “Really sorry.” 

“I just cannot _believe_ you,” River seethed, scowling at him and looking at him with the kind of glare that suggested she was contemplating slapping him again. “Getting married _to someone who wasn’t me._ Did you even think about me at all? Did you- oh god.” She went pale, before her face contorted into a look of fury. “ _Did you think about me while you were fucking her_?” 

“No!” the Doctor protested, holding up his hands, desperately trying to diffuse the situation and reassure River of the platonic nature of his relationship with Clara. “I mean, no, because we don’t… we haven’t… things aren’t like that!” 

“Oh?” River cocked an eyebrow and affixed him with a withering look that showed she doubted the veracity of his statement. “Because before this… Scottishness, you and her did seem awfully good friends. I’m not stupid, she’s a pretty girl. I saw the way you used to look at her.” 

“And I saw the way you did!” the Doctor countered furiously, his temper flaring at the suggestion that he had treated Clara with any impropriety, or that he and her had… well, done _that_. It wasn’t like that, it would never be like that, and River’s cruel assumption made his insides twist uncomfortably. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!” she spat, waving her gun emphatically, and the Doctor flinched away from her, trying to quell his anger enough to form a response. 

“I think,” came a bitter voice from the edge of the console room. “That your _husband_ is trying to say that he’s jealous because you used to fancy me.” Clara strolled into the room wrapped in a dressing gown, her face curiously calm. “And Doctor, I think your _wife_ is jealous that you used to fancy me too.” 

“Well, this one’s cocky,” River said cattily, and Clara scowled at her then, the Doctor afraid to speak as the two women stared each other down across the room. “No need to look at me like that. I’m his _wife._ ” 

“So am I,” Clara reminded her with a small, smug smirk. “I’m guessing he told you that part already though, or you wouldn’t be shouting at each other quite so furiously.” 

“And I’m guessing you were waiting for him lovingly in his bed, like a cosy little bed warmer?” River asked in a cruel tone, but Clara only ascended the steps to her in silence, a serenely calm expression on her face. 

“Maybe I was, yeah.” Clara breathed, her face inches from River’s. “Maybe I was waiting for him in my lingerie, waiting for my husband to come to bed so I could-” River’s hand connected with her cheek sharply and the Doctor cried out, but Clara barely flinched, a harsh laugh escaping her as the side of her face began to sting. “You’re pathetic. I know he’s told you the truth, so it’s pathetic you don’t trust him around me.” 

“Let me guess,” River was breathing heavily as she spoke, anger burning in her eyes as she studied the younger woman. “He’s not your _type._ ” 

“No, he’s not.” Clara lied coolly, and the Doctor felt his hearts clench at the words, at the sudden remembrance of what this was and how she felt about him. 

“He used to be,” River said snidely. “He used to be _very_ much your type. It was almost embarrassing, then, how desperate you were.” 

“And now it’s almost embarrassing how angry you are about a marriage of convenience.” 

“Shut up,” River snarled, her eyes cold. “You call it that, but you know how he feels about his companions.” 

“No,” Clara confessed, looking over to the Doctor and wondering for half a second if he could possibly feel for her the way she felt for him. “But you seem to.” 

“I know him better than you, that’s why.” River informed her with smugness. “I know what he likes.” 

“Well, he seems to like polygamy-” Clara began, but the Doctor, finally coming back to his senses, realised he needed to intervene, because the two women could not be allowed to continue in this manner. 

“River…” he said warningly, taking half a step towards her. “We’ve discussed this before…” 

“Yes we have,” she said casually, examining the gun in her hand to avoid his gaze, caressing the trigger as she turned it over in her hand. “That doesn’t mean I’m not still jealous of them.” 

“River, they were years ago… Elizabeth…” 

“Elizabeth the First, I know…” she attempted a mocking version of Sandshoes’ accent. “ _It was only the once, River, I promise, and she wasn’t a candle in the wind to you._ ” 

The Doctor scowled at her, knowing he was caught out. “Well she wasn’t,” he muttered. “And besides…” 

“Marilyn Monroe!” River countered. “Oh, wait, that one didn’t count, did it?” she looked over to Clara with a cruel smirk. “He was too drunk to-” 

“ _River._ ” The Doctor interrupted. “Stop it, it’s not like you haven’t married other people: Ramone…” 

“He was only my husband by common law!” 

“Stephen Fry…” 

“That didn’t count, for obvious reasons, and besides, he was a droid copy.” 

The Doctor sighed, running his hands through his hair. “My point is… you can’t throw me to the wolves for doing what you’ve done.”

“Why? This one’s prettier. And very much still alive.” River said, her tone almost whining as she gestured to Clara with the gun. 

“Prettier than Marilyn Monroe?” Clara smirked. “I’ll take that.”

“You could take yourself off into deep space and fix the ‘still alive’ thing too, if you liked…” River muttered, and that was all it took to tip the Doctor over the edge. 

“No,” he all but shouted. “I’m sorry, but you can’t just turn up here and threaten my wife. And yes, before you say anything, she _is_ my wife, and if you have a problem with that, then you just need to deal with it. I will _not_ let you speak to Clara like that, River! She’s responsible for saving my life – and you _know_ that, so stop acting like she’s some kind of monster for doing what we’ve done!” 

“And what _have_ you done?” River asked, giving them both a long look. 

“Oh my god!” Clara said in irritation. “Nothing like that. I literally have not infringed on what you seem to consider your property _at all_ , so stop being such a jealous cow.” 

“What…” the Doctor said in confusion, and Clara and River both gave him a pitying look.

“She’s talking about sex, Doctor. She’s jealous because she thinks we’re having sex.” Clara explained, and he blushed a deep shade of crimson. 

“Oh.” He looked between the two women in bewilderment. “But we aren’t.” 

“I know.” Clara said patiently, waiting for him to grasp the situation at hand. “But she’s still bothered.” 

“ _She_ is right here, you rude-” River saw the Doctor’s expression and stopped herself, turning towards her husband and giving him a long look. “Do you _want_ to have sex with Clara?” 

“Urm…” the Doctor began, understanding that he was on very, very thin ice. The prospect, he had to admit, invoked a kind of scientific curiosity, but he knew Clara well enough to know that she would be repelled by this body or by the idea of such a thing, and so he went for the safest answer, even though it was technically a lie. “No.” 

“Clara, do you want to… why am I even asking? A shallow little thing like you couldn’t possibly want to.” 

“Hey!” Clara objected, offended by River’s assumption. “Just because _you’re_ struggling to deal with the change, don’t take it out on me!” 

“So you _do_ want to fuck my husband?” River asked, raising one eyebrow in a clear challenge to Clara. 

“No!” Clara protested weakly, opting for the same denial he had gone for, despite the small part of her that wondered, irrationally, what it would be like, how it would feel… but he had outright said he wasn’t interested, so there was little point in pursuing the matter. It was safer to lie. 

“Well then,” River purred. “It looks like I’m still a lucky lady. Besides, the Scottish thing is _very_ sexy…” 

“I thought you were angry with me?” the Doctor protested, and River gave him a smouldering look.

“I _am,_ ” she clarified, her tone softening. “Angry, jealous… maybe a little turned on.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her confession, realising he needed to make one of his own. “I’m not sure I like sex anymore,” he admitted unwillingly, wrinkling his nose and blushing again as he fumbled for an explanation. “I don’t think it’s for me.” 

“Don’t you worry about nasty Clara…” River murmured, leaning over to place her palm on his cheek, and Clara felt her jealousy flare at the simple gesture. “ _I_ want you.” 

“I’m not sure if I want you though,” he repeated awkwardly, trying to make her understand. “Not in _that_ way.”

River pulled away from him, her mouth set in a thin, hard line as she felt the resentment of rejection overwhelm her. “Fine,” she snapped bitterly. “I’ll be in my room. Do try not to marry anyone else before I emerge.” She turned on her heel and stomped away down the corridors, cursing under her breath as she did so, and the Doctor sank into his reading chair with his head in his hands. 

“Didn’t know she had a room,” Clara said lightly, trying to change the topic to bolster his mood. “Never seen it before.”

“I have… few times. TARDIS probably hid it from you, she likes River.”

“I thought she liked me now,” Clara frowned a little, displeased that her tactic wasn’t working. “Doesn’t she?” 

“Course she does,” the Doctor assured her, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “But River’s my wife.” 

“I thought I was your wife,” Clara said, her brows knitting together as she scowled at him. “Make up your mind.” 

“You _both_ are,” the Doctor affirmed. “It’s just different… River is my wife _who I love-_ ”

He knew immediately that he’d said something wrong by the way Clara snatched her hand from his grasp as if she’d been burnt, and by the way she jumped to her feet and strode away from him. Her eyes were stinging with tears that she willed not to fall, his words stringing her like a slap, and she turned away to ensure that he wouldn’t see her face.

“Clara… I mean, you know what I mean,” he attempted desperately, trying to redeem himself. “I love you, just not like her.” 

Somehow, that only served to make it worse, and from the other side of the console, Clara took a deep breath, wondering how to best explain what she was feeling, or how best to communicate to him that she cared for him deeply, and that this marriage meant something more to her than it should. “Maybe you should have thought about that,” she said thickly, her tone somewhat more accusatory than intended as she paused for breath. “Before you married me.”

“Clara…” the Doctor sighed. “I did, I just… I didn’t really envisage…” 

“You didn’t foresee the slight hiccup of my dad dying and you getting stuck with me. I get it. Really.” 

“I’m not _stuck with you_ ; do you really think I care for you that little? I would never have just… divorced you and left you behind, I wouldn’t have…” he sighed again, willing her to understand. “Do you actually think I’m doing this because I have to?” 

“Well if you love River so much then clearly you are, Doctor.” 

“I’m… Clara, it’s complicated.” 

“How?” she asked, throwing her hands in the air as she spoke. “How is this complicated? I forced you into marrying me and now we’re stuck together here with your _actual_ wife, who hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you, Clara. She’s jealous,” the Doctor clarified. “River is a very jealous person.”

“But _why_?” Clara asked in bewilderment. “I’m nothing special, I’m not exceptional in any way, I’m just… me.” Her tears finally overwhelmed her, rolling down her cheeks in fat droplets, and she rubbed her eyes furiously, trying to hide her face from the Doctor to avoid invoking his pity. 

“Oh Clara,” he murmured, crossing the room to her and wrapping her in his arms. “My Clara. You’re more than exceptional. You’re my impossible girl, you’re brilliant, you’re… _you._ ” 

“Get off me,” she protested suddenly, pushing him away with surprising strength. “Don’t say things like that. You don’t mean them.” 

“Of course I mean them!”

“You _don’t_ , so just don’t even bother, OK? Go and spend time with River and have space sex or something, just stop telling me things that aren’t even true, because it’s just making this harder.” 

“Making what harder?”

“Making _this_ harder!” she cried, hating how whiny she sounded and how desperate she was. “You, me, us!” 

“There is no _us_ -” he thought aloud, but before he could continue his sentence with the words _or so I thought_ , she had slapped him, hard, her tears choking her as she glared at him with open hostility. 

“Fuck you,” she spat, and with that she disappeared, running into the familiar depths of the TARDIS, locking her bedroom door behind her as she fell onto the bed and wept, understanding with damning finality that she had made a fatal error. She had fallen in love with Bow-Tie, that much she had never denied, but she had thought herself cured of her foolish crush when she met Danny, desperately telling herself that the happiness that the Doctor brought her was nothing more than friendly, and that the way her heart leapt when she saw him was purely linked to their adventures. She had tried so hard to love Danny, and she had been so convinced that she had succeeded in her endeavour, but now… 

She groaned and pulled the pillow over her face, realising that in entering the Doctor’s time stream, she had fused her existence inextricably with his and thus fused together their fates, thus with each incarnation of him that her echoes saved, some small ripple of emotion was invoked in her and she fell increasingly in love with the Time Lord who turned up on her doorstep every week with his clumsy, well-intentioned words and his hopelessness at all things emotional. Or now, the Time Lord that made her cups of tea before she woke, the Time Lord who brought her strange, alien takeaway food in the library, the Time Lord who was legally bound to her and who had seemed perfectly willing to play the part. 

Only… only he didn’t love her in _that_ way. She had been a fool to think that perhaps things could be different, a fool to hope that maybe he felt the same way and that maybe she could compete with River Song for his affections. Once the furious professor had left, they would think about divorce. And then maybe, perhaps, things could go back to how they were before, and she would repress her feelings and move out of the TARDIS, relegating him to one trip a week until she had her emotions back in check. 

 _It’s the only way_ , she told herself sternly. _The only way this will work. So just calm down and be logical, Clara, try to get some sleep or read a book, and just calm down._

Her brain refused to fall silent, however, and eventually she sighed in capitulation, sitting up in bed and looking around the darkened room. There was one thing that would help right now, that much she knew. 

Wine.


	7. Five Feet High and Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara goes in search of wine, only she finds a certain professor has got there first. Unsure of what else to do, they discuss the Doctor and their relationships with him, only as the alcohol flows, tongues begin to loosen and lines begin to get a little blurred...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is... chapter seven. Another favourite of mine!
> 
> Chapter title from "Five Feet High and Rising" by Johnny Cash.

Clara padded through the TARDIS corridors on silent feet, one hand trailing loosely over the walls as she made her way to the kitchen in search of wine. There were two bottles of red in the cupboard beside the fridge, that much she knew, and she yanked the kitchen door open with a sense of expectation, looking forward to having alcohol to stem her sadness and free her, temporarily, from her troubles. 

River Song was sat at the breakfast bar, perched elegantly on a stool in a satin dressing gown, sipping a glass of wine and flicking through a leather bound book from the library. She had a serene look on her face as she skimmed through the pages, downing the last of her nearly-empty glass and reaching for the bottle absentmindedly.

“That’s mine!” Clara protested, the words slipping out unbidden, and River looked up at her in surprise, taking in Clara’s red eyes and ruffled hair, wondering what had distressed her so intently before realising that there was only one logical explanation, and he was most likely still stood in the console room. She couldn’t help but raise one eyebrow at Clara’s dishevelled appearance, and she found herself wondering, idly, what it would be like to reach over and smooth down her hair, or pull her close, or undo that oversized fluffy dressing gown and see what was… _no_. It was probably the wine talking, but she couldn’t allow herself to get distracted, she knew that much, and so she smiled a mischievous smile, trying for a casual tone. 

“Sorry, I didn’t see your name on it,” she teased, but she stood nonetheless, reaching into the cupboard for another glass and filling it almost to the brim with deep red liquid. “Please.” 

“How…” Clara began, but River only smiled knowingly, refilling her own glass and raising it in a toast, watching with incredulity as Clara took her own glass and knocked back a large gulp. 

“There’s only one cure to fighting with men, and that’s wine. Especially men as impossible as him.” She offered, by way of an explanation, and Clara frowned a little, chewing her lip.

“But I thought…”

“You thought I was jealous? I _am_ jealous. I’m still quite seriously contemplating killing you and claiming to the Doctor that you fell down some stairs, but I’ve had two glasses of this rather excellent wine, and so I’m feeling generous of spirit. Well. Generous of wine.” 

“ _My_ wine.” Clara reminded her, taking another sip and grinning at River, despite herself. 

“Yes, _your_ wine. Goodness, are you always this possessive?” 

“Depends. Are you always this irritating?” 

“Irritating?!” River said in mock-annoyance. “I’ll have you know; this is a patented attitude.” 

“Ah, attitude. Is that what we’re calling it now?” Clara smirked a little, enjoying the slight danger of the conversation. “I thought it was just being jealous.” 

“I’ve copped to the jealousy, darling,” River murmured unwillingly, raising her eyes to meet Clara’s gaze. “Now, don’t push me, or I might have to get inventive with a corkscrew, and I don’t fancy trying to have to explain to our darling husband how you tripped and fell onto something pointy.” 

“Oh, is he _our_ husband now?”

“Don’t think I’ll be sharing him,” River warned. “He’s still-”

“Still your sex toy, I get it.”

“Sex toy?” River asked, raising her eyebrows. “You think I’m doing this for me? Oh, darling, I don’t do any of this for me. _He’s_ the one I’m doing it for.” 

“Why?” Clara asked, sipping her drink steadily as she surveyed River. She really _was_ attractive, she realised, suddenly understanding what the Doctor saw in her. Beautiful, witty, sharp-tongued… everything she had so valued about her own character, only in a curvier package and with a PhD. She felt a small stab of jealousy, undercut with something that may have been desire, flash through her, but dismissed it, telling herself that it was just the alcohol. 

“Why?” River asked rhetorically, smirking at her maddeningly. “Because _this,”_ she gestured to herself in an all-encompassing manner. “Has to be experienced to be believed.” 

“Lucky him,” Clara said dryly, her words already slightly slurred, and she looked at River with a critical eye. “Bit cliché.” 

“Says the walking Bambi!” 

“Excuse me?!” Clara spluttered indignantly, nearly spilling her wine. “I am _not_ Bambi, I have much more grace!” 

“No, but you’ve got that big wide-eyed look that men fall over themselves for.” 

“Including the Doctor,” Clara jibed, the words taking her by surprise, so she took another sip of wine before looking at River coyly, wondering how far she could push her. “He looooooooves it.” 

“Oh? So he’s under your thumb, sweetie, that doesn’t mean much. And don’t you try that look on me, I’m immune to pretty girls who try that look on me.” 

“So…” Clara paused, trying to collect her thoughts as she downed the remains of her glass. She wasn’t sure if River was flirting or not, so she decided to take it one step further, determined to understand the other woman’s intentions. “So, you get propositioned a lot by pretty girls. Do you ever say yes?” 

“Why? Are _you_ propositioning me?” River asked with a small laugh, refilling Clara’s glass and avoiding the question delicately. “Because I don’t like the doe eyes.” 

“I can do other eyes,” Clara said, biting her lip and looking up at River with a look that burned with the desire she had been trying to subdue, a look that she was scarcely in control of as the wine flooded her system, and she felt her breath catch in her chest as River leant in and brushed her thumb over her lips, her touch warm and the gesture intimate. 

“Well…” she murmured, leaning in a little way, and Clara closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling tension spark between them, before River patted her cheek gently and pulled away. “No.”

Clara pouted and swigged more of her wine, wondering why River’s rejection stung so badly. “That’s just unfair.”

“Oh, darling. If you think that’s unfair, you should have seen some of the things I’ve done to hubby dearest.” 

“Such as?” Clara asked, her mood recovering as she squinted at River curiously, fishing for small titbits of information that she could use at a later date. 

“Like the time I tied him to his headboard, got things going and then told him I’d be right back,” River smirked at the memory. “And I was. Three hours later.” 

Clara giggled, barely noticing River topping up both their glasses. “Was he mad?” 

“Oh, terribly,” River said, delighting in the other woman’s glee. “He begged.” 

“He _begged_?!” Clara exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise as she considered the Doctor, bound and begging. She had to admit, the image was kind of arousing. “Wow.” 

“Do remember that little Bow-Tie wasn’t as stoic and Scottish as the idiot outside. He wasn’t averse to a little begging when he wanted something.” 

“Teach me your ways…” Clara implored, trying out the doe-eyed look on River once more but being met only with raised eyebrows. “Not for me to use on him! For men in general. And women.” 

“Oh?” River gave Clara a look she couldn’t quite place. “Now, that’s just greedy.”

“And you aren’t?! You’ve had one man to yourself for years…”

“You’ve had all his incarnations,” River countered, but her tone was playful. “Oh, darling, isn’t being greedy just wonderful?” 

“Mmm hmm,” Clara concurred, finishing her second glass of wine. “It is. So teach me.” 

“ _Fine._ Stop doing that face, for a start.” River directed imperiously, setting her glass down in readiness. “Do the fuck me eyes again.” 

“I’m sorry?!” Clara protested half-heartedly, but she followed River’s direction and let her eyes fill with desire, looking over to the other woman as she awaited further instruction, holding her breath unconsciously. 

“Now… you’ve got to leave them wanting more…” River said, repeating her earlier motion, trailing her thumb across Clara’s lower lip, and Clara shivered a little, leaning into the contact and turning her lips towards River’s palm. “No.” River chided, pulling away. “You give, then you take. Don’t pout like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s sexy, and it’s distracting.” 

“You think I’m sexy?” Clara raised her eyebrows at the frank admission. “Wow.”

“No,” River argued. “I _know_ you’re sexy. It’s why I have an issue with you and my husband.” 

“Fuck him,” Clara muttered, intoxicated by River’s words and her presence and the wine, oh _gods_ , that wine, she really shouldn’t have drunk so much so quickly. “Fuck that.” 

“Oh, I have,” River grinned. “Now, come on. Next step. This is important: take control.” 

“I can take control,” Clara said as confidently as she could manage, suddenly revelling in her role as a control freak. “That’s easy.”

“Ah, but can you take _sexy_ control?” River challenged, and Clara hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she grabbed the waist of River’s robe and pulled her towards her, kissing her far more sloppily than she would have liked, far too aggressively, but she found herself hardly caring as she felt River respond to her, her hand coming up to rest on the back of Clara’s neck. 

When she finally pulled away, Clara was breathing heavily, and River looked to her with approval. “Well, you really do give your all, don’t you?” she mused. “Full marks for effort.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Clara instructed, pulling her in for another kiss and biting down on River’s bottom lip, drawing a moan from the other woman as she undid the robe, finding only a short negligee underneath and resting her hand on River’s hip, stroking her thumb over the exposed skin there. 

“Clara…” River murmured, hooking her thumbs through the ties of Clara’s dressing gown and pulling the younger woman closer to her. “Just to clarify, this may just be the wine talking, but you aren’t that bad.” 

“Oh?” Clara moved her lips to River’s throat and elicited another moan in response. “That’s a compliment, from you…” 

“It is,” River agreed, closing her eyes. “I’m still jealous, you know… and I think… _oh_ ,” she moaned, as Clara flicked her tongue over a sensitive spot. “I think _he_ would be a little jealous of this…” 

“So it can be our secret,” Clara whispered, her hand cupping the small of River’s back. “Just between us girls.”

“Just between us girls, I still want to kill you,” River confided, her hands tangling in Clara’s hair. “An awful lot.”

“So tie me up and try,” Clara breathed, her lips returning to River’s. “But maybe back in your room…” 

“Ceding power, are we?” River managed, and Clara bit down on her lip again. 

“Never,” she hesitated for a fraction of a second, frowning slightly. “But I might need you to lead the way to your room.” 

River laughed, taking Clara’s hand and tugging her out of the kitchen, down the corridor and through a door of warm, cherry red. Inside, deep crimson silk hangings hid the walls and ceiling from view, and ornate golden lamps cast a muted glow over the interior, giving the room a sensuous aura that took Clara’s breath away. 

“Wow,” she said softly. “This is…” 

“It’s a bit of a throwback,” River explained with a shrug. “I was Cleopatra, for a while.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Clara teased, sitting on the edge of the wide, soft bed and untying her dressing gown, slipping it off to reveal the oversized t-shirt and shorts she wore underneath. 

“No, just the ones who come in here in their kitten pyjamas.” River teased, sitting beside Clara and kissing her deeply, sliding a fingertip up her thigh as she did so, watching the effect it had with satisfaction. “Now, Miss Oswald. No more talking.”

 

* * *

 

The door to River’s room crashed open the following morning, rousing both women rudely from their slumber. Clara sat up at once, one hand on her forehead, looking around for the source of the noise before realising with acute horror where she was and what had happened the night before. She groaned and lay back down, rolling over and burying her head in the pillows, feeling River’s warm presence beside her and wondering why it didn’t bother her as much as it might have done. 

“Clara?” the Doctor’s voice was laden with confusion as he surveyed the scene before him. “Why are you in here? With River?” 

 _Shit_ , Clara thought to herself, regret and realisation crashing over her in tandem. _Shit shit shit._  

“I ah… River was upset last night after the big row,” she lied, her tone too high and unconvincing, but she prayed it would be enough for the Doctor. “Came to check on her.” 

“Oh,” the Doctor said, apparently accepting her explanation. “That was nice of you. She didn’t try to kill you, then?” 

“No,” River murmured. “But it came close.” She looked at Clara wickedly, a small smirk playing around the corners of her mouth, and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks, pulling the duvet over her face. 

“How close?” the Doctor asked with concern, and before Clara could intercede, River had leapt in.

“Well, I feared she may never walk again…” 

“River!” the Doctor chastised, tugging the duvet off the two women without further hesitation. “Are you… why are you naked?” 

“I gave Clara a massage, because I felt so guilty about how much I’d upset her…” River improvised, pulling the covers back over them in a practiced motion.

“So why are _you_ naked?”

“Now now, sweetie. You know I sleep naked, don’t you?” River smiled sweetly at him. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“N-no…” he stammered. _Yes,_ he thought to himself. _And the sight of Clara like that, even more so…_  

“Well then. Pop off and put the kettle on, there’s a dear.”

“I…” he protested, before deciding that perhaps proximity to two naked women was not conducive to his self-control. “Fine.” He strode from the room before either woman could gloat, wondering why human anatomy had flustered him so. He closed his eyes, the image of Clara burned onto his retinas: the soft curve of her hips, the smooth, alabaster expanse of her skin, the deep pink of her nipples and… _no._ He couldn’t think about her like that. He sank into the chair in the console room, his head in his hands, as he fought to keep his composure. 

“Tease,” Clara chided. “He’s probably confused now. Well. More confused.”

“Oh, indubitably.” River grinned. “He won’t work it out, you know. He’s not switched on enough. Wrong wavelength.” 

“He’s very naïve,” Clara concurred. “Unlike some people I could mention…”

“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” River quipped, rolling over and trailing her fingertips up Clara’s leg. “I doubt you’d mind a repeat, either.” 

“How do you know?” Clara asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. 

“You’re still here,” River said simply, with a small shrug. “Most people wouldn’t be.” 

“True,” Clara conceded. “Doesn’t mean I’ll be up for this again…” 

“Liar,” River murmured, pressing her lips to Clara’s gently. “You loved it… loved being _wicked_ …” 

“Maybe…” Clara breathed, trying to remember why this was a bad idea and that she shouldn’t be doing this, but failing miserably. “Maybe I did… but…” 

“He doesn’t have to know,” River affirmed. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…” 

“But you got so jealous,” Clara said, frowning a little as she pulled away from River. “About him with other women. So why is this OK? I’m not some stupid pawn.”

“No, you’re not.” River paused. “This isn’t love, it’s different. It’s just a physical thing.” 

“But you hated the Doctor when you thought _he_ had a physical thing with me!” 

River sighed angrily. “So, this makes me a hypocrite! I don’t know, OK, Clara? I’m just attracted to you, and I know you’re attracted to me, and it’s not like either of us are getting laid anytime soon, so why not make the most of it?”

Clara chewed on her lip as she contemplated the brusque proposal. “Fine,” she agreed after a moment. “But it’s _just_ sex. Nothing else. And he can’t know. Ever.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry, but I'd do it again.


	8. Whiskey River, Take My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara had thought that the arrangement that her and River had come to would be relatively simple, especially while the Doctor remains oblivious to their liaisons. Both women find themselves enjoying the illicit nature of their relationship... only Clara suddenly finds things to be developing into something else entirely...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you for the wonderful responses to the last chapter... sorry about the slightly divisive nature of it! I love reading everyone's comments, they're a brilliant form of motivation to keep writing and they make me very happy. 
> 
> Chapter title from "Whiskey River" by Willie Nelson.

“River?” the Doctor asked idly from his blackboard on the upper deck, deciding to confront the issue he had been pondering for several days yet wondering how best to phrase his question. “Don’t you have… you know… I don’t know, archaeology to… archaeologe?” 

River raised her eyebrows at him from her position by the console, pretending to consider his words. “Well, I could leave if that’s what you wanted…?” she mused, and he stepped to the railings, looking down at her with a stricken expression, desperate to clarify his meaning. 

“No, no… I just…” he blushed furiously, putting his hands over his face before trying again. “I’m not used to having you here for such a long time. It’s…” he concentrated hard, searching for the appropriate word. “Nice.” 

“Good,” River purred, looking up at him with a sultry expression, widening her eyes in a way that was distinctly Clara-esque. “Because for a moment I thought you might be asking me to leave, and that would be very, _very_ rude.” 

“I…” he cleared his throat slightly uncomfortably, trying to ignore the intensity of her gaze. “No. Not me. Never.” 

“Clara might dispute that,” River murmured under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. “The _rude_ thing.” 

“I…” he stammered again, stricken by her and her smouldering, but then oh _gods_ , she’d had to mention Clara. He’d been avoiding his companion as much as possible since the day he had found her naked in River’s bed, him leaving a room as she entered it or finding excuses to isolate himself at distant ends of the TARDIS from her, trying desperately to find a way to look her in the face again without turning red. Although he’d rather die than admit it, that was the root of the scrawling Gallifreyan equations that covered four blackboards: how much Retcon he would need to forget the sight of Clara Oswald’s… 

His brain stuttered and then caved in at the thought of her nude form, and he closed his eyes, forgetting River’s presence, forgetting everything other than Clara as he realised that forgetting that sight was not something he wanted to do, and beginning to laboriously erase his calculations. 

“Giving up, are we?” River teased. “That big old brain of yours is clearly fried. I mean… _archaeloge._ But then again, it’s been a long regeneration, hasn’t it? All those lines…” 

“They’re distinguished,” he grumbled, silently adding _Clara says so_ and hating himself for it _._ “Just because you liked Bow-Tie more.” 

“I didn’t!” River protested, her tone irritated as she glowered at his back, indignant at his statement. “I don’t like _any_ of you more or less!” 

“Liar,” he mumbled unhappily, wiping his hands free of chalk dust. “You don’t like the Scottish.” 

“It took getting used to,” River admitted with a shrug. “Especially the eyebrows. But I like it. It’s much more _me_ than Bow-Tie was.” She forced herself to frown for posterity’s sake. “What I’m not enjoying is my mother’s replacement. She’s far too gobby.” 

“River…” he sighed in resignation, knowing they were about to embark on the argument they had already had a thousand times in the past few weeks. “For the _last time._ She is not a _replacement._ She’s my _friend._ Could you just… be nice to her? Stop trying to kill her? You know, anything, really.” 

“No.” River said stubbornly, stalking towards him aggressively and watching him skirt around the upper deck in avoidance of her ire. “I don’t like her.” 

“Well, _try._ She saved my life, or are you forgetting that? No Clara would mean no _me_. So, pick your battles,” he snapped from a safe distance. “If you don’t like her, maybe you _should_ leave.” 

River scowled at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she spat, her expression brimming with jealousy. “Being alone with her?”

“River…” he raised his eyebrows at her, trying hard to look dismissive of her statement whilst inwardly and secretly coveting the idea. “C’mon… I didn’t…” 

“Forget it,” she snarled, turning on her heel and storming off. “Just forget it.” 

The Doctor sighed and sank into the reading chair, wondering how to reconcile the situation. The two women had been at each other’s throats for two weeks, and he was exhausted by their constant arguments, incessant catty comments and cruel words. He loved having River here, of course he did, but not if she was going to cause friction with Clara, and it was becoming increasingly clear to him that he would have to make a decision, and make it soon, as to whether he was going to end his marriage to Clara or not. 

On the one hand, he knew it would be what she wanted, but the idea of leaving her, even in a purely legal sense, hurt him more than he cared to admit, and he tried not to consider the thought that perhaps Clara would then want to leave the TARDIS altogether, or worse, might want to move on and leave their shared life behind. He flinched away from the thought, feeling his hearts thud painfully at the prospect of losing his Clara, the one ray of hope he had had for such a long time, and he fought back desperate tears, sinking into a private melancholy as he contemplated his dilemma with his two wives. 

They would either start to get on, or they would kill each other, that much he was certain of. He was unsure as to which was the likelier scenario, but he somehow felt that the latter was more probable, and the thought of it made him ache inside as he marvelled at humans and their jealousy. Clara had, patiently, explained the concept of jealousy to him once, what felt like forever ago on a distant moon of a distant planet, and he remembered her description well enough to understand that this was what she was experiencing, although he remained baffled as to the reasoning behind it. Surely her and River weren’t jealous of each other? Surely they understood that they meant different things to him, that they had unique qualities and that he had the capacity to love them both? Surely she knew he cared about her quite as much as he cared for River? 

He sighed again, running his hands through his hair and groaning to himself, overwhelmed by his thoughts. He was beginning to remember why he didn’t do romance any more.

 

* * *

 

“Did he buy it?” Clara whispered, safely ensconced in the TARDIS garden but feeling the need to lower her voice anyway. She wasn’t entirely sure whether the time machine could be trusted with this secret yet. “The row?” 

“He always buys it, darling,” River laughed and lay back on the checked picnic rug, kissing her way languidly along Clara’s throat. “Loving the blanket. Very 1950s chic.” 

Clara blushed a little, turning her face away from River. “I found it in a cupboard… didn’t want to get grassy and make him curious.” 

“He wouldn’t notice; he’s too engrossed in…” River laughed suddenly as she remembered what the Time Lord had been concentrating on. “God, you know those silly, silly calculations?” 

“Mmm?” Clara propped her head up on her hand, smiling at the professor in the artificial sunlight. “What about them?”

“He’s trying to work out how much retcon to give himself.” River grinned. “I’m assuming it’s to do with seeing you naked.” 

“I didn’t think I was _that_ repulsive…” Clara murmured, and River slipped a hand underneath her companion’s shirt, running a fingertip along her spine lightly enough to tease. 

“He’s given up… and anyway, madam, you aren’t. You’re beautiful…” she pressed a feather-light kiss to Clara’s forehead, her breath tickling her eyelashes. “He just can’t handle it.” 

“ _You_ can barely handle it, I thought that was why I was still clothed…” Clara rolled onto her front and looked around them, trying to ignore her racing thoughts. Why would the Doctor _not_ want to forget the sight of her naked in his other wife’s bed? _Surely he would have understood the implications_ , she wondered. _But then again…_ Guilt flooded through her at the thought of what they were doing, and she chewed her lip as she tried to come up with a witticism to draw River’s attention away from her and her thundering pulse. “Although I feel like the TARDIS wouldn’t really approve…” she attempted. 

“The TARDIS has already seen us have sex,” River reminded her with a wicked grin. “A lot.” 

Clara shuddered. “That’s weird. Don’t make me think about that.” 

“Think about what?” River asked innocently, her eyes full of mischief as she teased her companion. “Think about a sentient space capsule watching us fuck?” 

Clara closed her eyes to the thought. “God, don’t… It’s too weird. What if she snitches on us?” 

“Oh, she won’t…” River assured her. “She let us in here. She doesn’t let _anyone_ in here.” 

“Maybe she’s trying to kill us. Death by fake garden, to avoid any more sex.” 

“Clara?” River said firmly, putting a finger to her companion’s lips. “You worry too much.” 

“I know…” Clara acquiesced. “Common complaint. But he _is_ going to eventually work out that he should follow you when you strop off. And then we’re gonna get busted.”

“This is the Doctor we’re talking about.” River sat up a little and reached for the basket of strawberries that the TARDIS had provided for them, taking one and sniffing it warily. “He doesn’t operate on the astral plane. Women are to him what Gallifreyan is to you.” 

“Point.” Clara looked at River with narrowed eyes, contemplating the fruit in her hand. “Are they poisonous?”

“Let’s find out. Open wide.” She held out a fruit to Clara, who raised an eyebrow delicately in an unspoken challenge. “Oh, come on, I _hate you_ , remember? So if you die, really, it’s just an affirmation of that. Authenticity.” 

Clara shrugged a little, throwing caution to the wind, and bit into the fruit, the sweetness bursting on her tongue as she chewed. “Tastes fine.” She mumbled thickly, and River helped herself to a berry.

“The TARDIS loves us, darling, remember?” she moved so that Clara’s head was cradled in her lap. “She wouldn’t be mean, not to her favourite Time Lord’s favourite ladies.” She began to stroke Clara’s hair absentmindedly as she tilted her head into the warmth of the sun, the younger woman closing her eyes and relaxing at her touch. “We don’t need to worry. Much.” 

“Sure?” Clara asked, wetting her lips nervously. “She used to hate me.” 

“Oh, get over yourself,” River chided light-heartedly, tapping Clara’s forehead with a fingertip. “She doesn’t hold grudges. Not when you lovingly saved her Time Lord.”

“I didn’t…” Clara blushed a little. “That was nothing, anyone would have done the same, I mean…” 

“You did it because you love him, didn’t you?” River asked plainly, and Clara’s eyes snapped open in shock. “Don’t lie, it’s written all over your face. Every time I mention him, you get that look about you.” 

Clara pulled away from River, standing up and brushing herself off, too stunned to even attempt to deny her words. “I’m going back to my room,” she said coldly. “Don’t follow.” She walked away, angry tears clouding her vision, but she was determined not to let River see her weakness. 

“Stop lying to yourself!” River called after her, her tone pragmatic and lacking malice. “Just admit it!”

Clara stalked through the corridors, entering the safe haven of her bedroom and slamming the door behind her, curling up in the safety of her duvet and allowing herself to cry as the sheer futility of the situation overwhelmed her. She needed to stop spending time with River, she knew that much. That was only aggravating an already complex problem, and she knew the Doctor would feel betrayed when he found out about them. But somehow… somehow spending time with her made Clara feel better, in ways she couldn’t quite fathom. River understood her, River could make her laugh… and Clara was unsure what to define their relationship as now, whether they had transcended an unspoken boundary. The thought only made her sob anew, and she lost herself to her sorrow and confusion. 

She was so engrossed in her weeping that she failed to notice the door to her room crack open, or River slipping inside. It wasn’t until the older woman sat on the edge of her bed that Clara sat up, startled, taking in River’s contrite expression with surprise. “What?” she asked thickly. “Just go away.” 

“Clara, I’m sorry,” River murmured, reaching for the other girl’s hand and squeezing it before pressing it to her lips. “I’m just… it’s obvious, for me, and I don’t want you to feel the same way I do.” 

“What…” 

“When you love the Doctor, it's like loving the stars themselves. You don't expect a sunset to admire you back.” River sighed sadly, cupping Clara’s cheek and brushing away a single, solitary tear. “I don’t even know if he’s capable of love. Not after everything.” 

“But there’s always hope, right?” Clara asked desperately, her breath hitching in her throat. There had to be hope. 

“Of course.” River promised. “We can always hope.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor was profoundly suspicious. River was ensconced in the heart of the library with Clara at her side – and neither woman was shouting or making threats. They were sat together on a deep blue sofa, a book resting between them as they flicked through it with what appeared to be merriment – no guns, no weapons, no hallucinogenic lipsticks. Still, he narrowed his eyes at the image of them on the TARDIS monitor, wondering why he felt a deep sense of unease. He watched as they giggled – giggled! – and he scowled at them both, jabbing at the button that would provide him with audio of their conversation, feeling a slight sense of guilt as he did so.

 _Audio unavailable._  

“What do you mean ‘audio unavailable’?” he asked incredulously, cursing his ship’s refusal to cooperate. “You’re a sentient spaceship, you can manage audio.” 

_Audio unavailable._

The Doctor’s scowl deepened as he flicked switches and pulled levers, but the same message still blinked at him resolutely, taunting him. “Fine!” he protested. “Fine, since you’re obviously in on this, don’t let me eavesdrop!” 

The TARDIS beeped at him in what might have been a chastising way, and he felt a swooping sense of guilt at his urgent, irrational need to listen in on the two women’s conversation. He could scarcely help his curiosity, though – over the past week, their animosity had waned, and they had grown increasingly friendly, much to his chagrin. He disliked the idea of them comparing notes on him, and he disliked the thought that it could all be to lull him into a false sense of security. He would not tolerate harm coming to either woman, that much he was certain of. 

“I know you’re helping them,” he muttered angrily, loathing how sulky he sounded, how utterly petulant his tone was as he spoke to his ship. “Give me something to work with.” 

The TARDIS beeped at him again and the video feedback loop cut out altogether, leaving the monitor screen blank, and he swore under his breath in Gallifreyan.

“C’mon…” he whined, resting his head on the console as he begged. “I can’t have them complaining about me. That’s not fair.” The monitor stayed determinedly, resolutely black, and he swore again. “Fine,” he capitulated bitterly. “Fine. See if I goddamn care.” 

With that, he stalked off, trying to convince himself that he really did care as little as he was letting on to his ship.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, come on,” Clara protested aloud, sighing in anger as she walked. “Now isn’t a good time.” 

She’d been wandering the TARDIS corridors for five minutes in search of the kitchen, but instead she’d found herself walking the same stretch of hallway repeatedly, her mood souring with each failed attempt to locate food, wine and coffee. Her muscles ached from running across Beautiana for hours with the Doctor and River, and her exhaustion was beginning to ebb at her consciousness and her temper. She aimed a kick at the wall bitterly. 

“This isn’t funny, I’m starving, I’m-” 

She fell silent as she found herself, inexplicably, in the deserted console room, the doors flung wide and sunlight streaming in, casting dappled shadows across the metal flooring. She crossed to them nervously, blinking in the unaccustomed natural brightness, before stepping outside and finding herself on a wide, sunny balcony overlooking a square in somewhere that seemed distinctly Mediterranean. River was sat on a wicker chair in the shade, sipping a tall glass of white wine and smiling coyly at Clara. 

“Sorry about the corridors. I had to keep you busy while I got us here.” 

“And here would be…” Clara looked around her, trying to determine their location in time and space.

“Verona, 1591. _Shakespeare’s_ Verona.” 

“Shakespeare was in London.” Clara said a little uncertainly, endorphins flooding her system as she took half a step towards River. She noticed her raised eyebrows and she realised the implications of her words, the heavy romanticism of the gesture and the location, and she hastily added: “But, you know, fair point.” 

“Do you like it?” River asked, and Clara nodded in awe, taking in the warm, honey coloured buildings with red tiled roofs, the feel of real, Earth sun on her skin for the first time in forever, River’s smile as she held out a glass of wine to her. 

“It’s b…” 

“River, what do you think you’re doing?” came a furious voice from behind her, and she turned to see the Doctor stood in the doorway, his face thunderous as he scowled at the two women. “You can’t just steal my TARDIS!” 

“I didn’t _steal_ it,” River said coolly, her expression impassive in the face of his anger. “I borrowed it.” 

“Why?” he snapped, striding towards them and gesturing with his arms as he spoke. “Why not just _ask_?”

River felt her stomach drop as she realised that there was only one way to diffuse this situation and avoid telling him the truth of the matter, so she looked at Clara with a pained expression that the younger woman missed entirely. “Because I wanted to bring you on a date.” 

“I… what?” he stammered, taken aback by her words and her actions, falling momentarily silent as he contemplated the situation. Clara felt her stomach clench irrationally with disappointment, and she stormed past him, back into the TARDIS, her hands flying over the controls, only dimly aware of River and the Doctor stepping back into the console room, taking in her actions with shock. 

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asked her in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together as he crossed the room to her, reaching for her hand and then thinking better of it.

“Going home,” Clara said tightly, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks as she typed in the necessary coordinates. “I’m clearly third wheeling.” 

“Clara, don’t be ridiculous…” the Doctor tried to argue, but she only disengaged the handbrake, throwing them into the vortex decisively as River looked on, her expression tinged with guilt. “That’s not… you’re not…”

“I’m going home,” she said simply, noting their landing with a small stab of satisfaction, an irrational smugness that she was, at least in this respect, as worthy as River Song. “I can’t run away from it forever, can I? I’m not you.” 

She took a step towards the door, and River reached for her arm, desperate to try and make amends, to make the younger woman understand. “Clara…” she implored, trying to convey the misunderstanding, trying to express her feelings with her eyes, but the younger woman only pulled away and stepped around her, yanking the door open with bitter finality.

“Don’t. And don’t follow me.” 

With that, she slammed the door behind her, leaving River and the Doctor in stunned silence, unsure how to proceed.

“What was all that about?” he asked, and River forced herself to shrug nonchalantly, remorse choking her words as she realised how deeply she must have hurt Clara with her deception, wanting nothing more than to run after her but knowing she couldn’t. She cleared her throat a little and forced herself to speak. 

“I’ve no idea.”


	9. Down in the River to Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Clara's departure, River decides action needs to be taken, only secrets end up spilling out, lies are revealed, and the Doctor is left feeling betrayed by the women in his life. Determined not to be beaten, he imparts a few secrets of his own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this is absolutely phenomenal, it's honestly so so wonderful to read all your comments every week! I've been busily writing today and this story keeps growing and growing with every passing chapter, so have no fear...!
> 
> Chapter title from the traditional song of the same name.

River crept into the console room on silent, slippered feet, holding her breath as she prayed that the Doctor had retreated to another part of the TARDIS to continue his week-long sulk. Since Clara had left the ship so acrimoniously, he had been quiet and reserved, prone to sudden outbursts of rage that were always succeeded by long, drawn out apologies to her and to his ship. He missed Clara, that much she understood, but _she_ missed her too, and having exhausted all other possibilities, this trip was a necessary evil, a final attempt at making the Time Lord smile again. 

“Hey old girl,” she murmured softly to the console once she was sure the coast was clear, running her hands over the cool metal with a smile. “Fancy a trip to see a friend? The old man doesn’t need to know.” 

The ship beeped, knowing where to take her without her needing to say a word, and within moments she was stood in what she sincerely hoped was Clara’s lounge, moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains and illuminating the fastidiously tidy room. She cursed under her breath. Appearing in Clara’s flat would be hard enough to explain – appearing there in the dead of night was going to be even trickier, and she tried to concoct an appropriate lie. She chewed her lip as she considered her options, wondering what Clara’s response would be to being woken up in the small hours, wondering whether it would be more prudent to simply return to the TARDIS and try to navigate back here in six hours’ time.

“So, you came crawling back then?” came a familiar voice from the darkness, and River jumped, a scream escaping her throat as a side lamp was flicked on, momentarily dazzling her. “Wait… River?” 

“Yes, River. Do I look like a six-foot-tall Scottish stick insect to you? The hair was a clue.” 

“Why the _hell_ are you here?” Clara asked in confusion, looking River up and down with a perplexed expression.

“Why the hell do you think?” River hissed impatiently. “To get you back.”

“To get me back where?” Clara frowned. “Back in that box? What, did he send you? I’m not some fucking fairy-tale princess who’s available as a trophy, River, or hadn’t you noticed that?” 

“Clara…” River sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “He didn’t send me anywhere. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I refuse to be a surprise gift. Not a chance. Go back to him and your cosy little Italian dates, I don’t want anything to do with it.” 

“Lord, you’re dense,” River exclaimed in exasperation. “When has he ever liked dates? When has he ever liked Italy? When has he ever liked the bloody Renaissance? That date was for _you_ , you idiot. But I couldn’t just tell him that, could I? _Oh hi honey, you know your other wife, the one I hate? Well I’m taking her on a date to Verona because we’ve been having sex for the past month.”_

“It was… the date was for me?” Clara blinked in confusion, trying to stop her optimism from soaring out of control as she contemplated River’s words. “I don’t… why would you do that?” 

“Because I wanted to take you on one,” River said patiently. “Because I think you are a profoundly interesting person and I no longer wish to kill you.” Clara raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “…quite as much.”

“Well,” Clara said, feeling her heart soar at the words she had been waiting to hear for so long. “That’s… flattering.” 

“ _Flattering_?” River teased, smiling seductively. “Do you know my usual idea of romance? It doesn’t involve dates to Verona.” 

“Or, I’m guessing, angry Time Lords.” 

“Well…” River smirked at the memory. “He hasn’t ever really objected to my methods before.”

“Gross,” Clara said without conviction, shuddering for dramatic effect. “You’re digressing from the issue.”

“God, you are _such_ an English teacher,” River complained fondly. “Nothing wrong with a little mention of my husband…” 

“There is when I’m trying to tell you that you are profoundly interesting also.” Clara muttered, turning a fiery shade of red. “So, shush.” 

“You think I’m interesting?” River asked, wondering why she felt so inexplicably giggly all of a sudden or why her stomach was full of butterflies at the thought. _This is_ _Clara Oswald,_ she told herself. _Not a big deal, not least because of the five foot two thing._  

“Of course I think you’re interesting!” Clara said firmly, smiling up at River as she spoke. “Very interesting and not just in a sex way. Although that’s good too.”

“Good to know.” River grinned, buoyed by Clara’s response. “So, are you coming back, or are you going to sulk in this creepy place forever?”

“It’s not creepy!”

“Darling, it looks like no one lives here.” 

“So, it’s _tidy._ There’s nothing wrong with _tidy_. You’ve seen Mr Magician and his mess, that’d make anyone tidy.” 

“Yeah, but this is a new extreme…” River grimaced playfully, crossing the room and standing before Clara, trying to appear more confident than she felt. “Come on. TARDIS.” She extended her hand to Clara, who took it with a shy smile, standing up and wrapping her arm around River’s waist before leaning up to kiss her quickly. 

“Has the sulking been really unbearable?” Clara asked, stepping into the TARDIS arm in arm with River, a laugh bubbling from her mouth as the older woman’s mouth opened to reply, and it was then that they saw him. 

Perfectly motionless, his face a study in the impassive as he stared at them coldly, his hands steepled into a point as he sat on the reading chair, one leg slung over the other in a calculated attempt at casualness. “So.” He said icily, pushing himself up and striding over to them, his eyes burning with rage. “You’ve been _fucking._ ” 

Clara wasn’t sure what shocked her more: his tone, so much colder than she was used to and the tone he used for her; or his use of such a vulgar word, a word he normally reviled for its crudity. She felt her stomach clench in fear of this man, this person she had counted as a friend but scarcely recognised in his anger or his hatred of her at that particular moment, and she took a small step backwards, attempting to escape his fury. 

“Oh, I heard River’s sordid little confession,” he snarled, and she flinched away further, unable to meet his gaze as his words spilled out. “I didn’t notice, oh, stupid, _stupid_ Doctor, I believed your lies, I believed that you were genuinely friends, and this whole time you’ve been betraying me, this whole time you’ve been fucking each other?” 

“Doctor, it wasn’t… it’s never been like that, we’ve never…” Clara began to protest, tears springing to her eyes defensively as she backed away from him again, terrified by the power of the Time Lord’s anger and disquieted by his abrupt shift in personality. 

“You never wanted to fuck each other?” he spat viciously, his words chosen to be hurtful as he glared at them both. “That was all just a misunderstanding? This has all just been a huge, naked misunderstanding that my fucking _ship_ has been in on?” 

“I…” River began, but before she could explain he had slammed his fist hard into the console, sparks flying as he repeated the motion until the monitor flickered into life with a montage of images of Clara and River together, a desperate act of appeasement, running through them until his hand connected with the screen and it went black. 

“Too late!” He screamed in anguish, his wrath towards his ship consuming him as he considered the depth of the betrayal, the depth of the bond between him and the TARDIS and how that had, perhaps irrevocably, been shattered. He hung his head over the console, his hatred for himself and his life and his ship burning through his veins, before he turned his attention back to the two terrified women before him. 

“How _could_ you?” he asked River, his hand embedded with shards of metal and bleeding sluggishly onto his cuff. “How could either of you do this?” 

“Doctor, it wasn’t conscious…” Clara began, wiping her eyes, determined not to show weakness to this strange, unknown person who claimed to be her Doctor. “River was… upset, that you didn’t want…” 

“That I didn’t want sex?” he spat, laughing cruelly. “Oh, so I suppose you lovingly offered it to her, did you, Clara? With those big doe eyes, how could she have resisted?” 

“This wasn’t her fault!” River intervened, noticing Clara’s stricken expression, determined to take the burden away from the younger woman. “It was my idea, this entire thing… it was my idea.”

“So you made her?” the Doctor squared up to River, his expression burning with a vitriol that she had never seen in his gaze before, his jaw set with fury as he glared down at her, his breath coming in short pants as he prepared himself for her response. 

“NO!” she denied vehemently. “I would never… no!” 

“Good!” he snarled, and Clara pushed between them, one hand on each of their chests as she forced them away from each other. 

“Stop this, both of you, just _stop it now,_ ” she pleaded. “Doctor, this isn’t like you!” 

“No, but guess what, fucking my wife isn’t like _you,_ either!” he retorted, his hands bunching into fists as he turned the full intensity of his anger onto her, noticing with a twinge of guilt how she cowered away from him before she let her own temper flare in retaliation.

“Your _wife?_ ” she snapped. “Is that how we’re playing this now, she’s your wife and I’m… what? Nothing?” 

“No! You’re… you’re…” he struggled to find the words and slammed his fist into the console again, noticing only then the stabbing pains that extended as far as his shoulder from the jagged shards of metal and glass buried in his skin. 

“Doctor…” Clara felt her anger melt away as quickly as it had grown within her. “Your hand…”

“Fuck my hand,” he growled, pulling away from her and stalking around to the other side of the console so that he could concentrate on picking fragments of debris from it. “Don’t change the subject!”

“Well, you answer my bloody question then!” Clara scowled. “What am I to you?”

“My wife!” he muttered, flinching as he dislodged a particularly large shard of metal.

“For how much longer?” Clara asked him, looking to him with desperation, praying he could put to rest the confusion that had taken root in her thoughts. 

“For… for as long as you want,” he admitted gruffly, unwilling to admit how much he wanted her to stay with him. “I just… you and River…” 

“We aren’t the same, I know,” Clara said with a sad shrug. “I’m just your fake wife and she’s the one you love.”

“Love?” River scoffed a little. “He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love anyone.” 

“Is that what you truly believe?” he asked her with stupefaction, pausing in his task to offer her a look of bewildered disbelief. “You really believe I don’t love you?” 

“Well… you’re… yeah.” River said unwillingly, looking up at him with a concerted effort. “It’s obvious.” 

“River… River, I love you, I thought I’d made my position on that clear,” he stammered, suddenly thrown by the new information. “I love you with both my hearts.” 

Clara felt her world stop at that exact moment, felt his words tear deep inside her chest as her heart seemed to still in its rhythm at the realisation and the confirmation that he loved another. He was not hers. He had never been hers, and never would be, that much she had always known, but she had fought so hard to retain hope and to hold onto the desperate dream that he would one day realise the depth of her feelings. She had been too cowardly to elucidate them to him in his present form, but she had thought – foolishly – that she had been clear enough with his previous face: their small touches and silent looks and playful words, a thousand stolen moments between them. As the pain of clarity overwhelmed her, she felt her need and her desperation crystallise to form the words she had never dared to speak, to offer her the courage to phrase the question she had never been able to utter.

“If you love her,” she said, the assuredness of her tone taking her by surprise. “Then why does this bother you quite so intensely?”

“Clara…” the Doctor looked at her with a wide-eyed look of confusion. “Oh, my Clara… I thought… I thought it was obvious?”

“Well, clearly it isn’t, Doctor, is it?” she told him. “Make it nice and clear.” 

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you, Clara Oswald.”

The pain of a moment prior seemed to alleviate, every atom of Clara’s body buzzing as she abruptly understood, his anger, jealousy and protectiveness; as she understood the truth of what he had said and what it meant for them. She had so many questions, a need for knowledge that threatened to drown out her joy, endorphins coursing through her as the room narrowed to her and the Doctor, his eyes meeting hers and the nerves there were enough to remind her that she had not returned the verbal gift he had offered her. 

“I love you,” she whispered, watching his lips turn up into a soft smile as he understood her, and she took his good hand in hers, squeezing gently.

“But I thought…” River interjected, her eyebrows knitting together in a look of bemusement. “What about…?” 

“River, I don’t purport to understand it. Rassilon knows, that’s not easy for me to say. But… I love you. Both of you.” 

“In the same way?” River asked, yearning for clarity. “Or differently?” 

“Differently…” he mumbled. “I mean. I don’t know.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure about the sex thing with either of you. Or anyone in general, don’t… don’t get offended.” 

“But?” Clara asked.

“But I love you both. Just the same. My bespoke psychopath and my impossible girl.”

“So… what do we do now?” Clara asked. “You know, other than applying a tourniquet to your hand, you bloody moron…” 

“I… don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. “Work it out, I guess.” 

“Well,” River said, looking between the two of them. “A polyamorous asexual Time Lord, an omnisexual half-Time Lady and a…” she looked to Clara with a tiny smirk, unsure how best to describe her. “Bisexual English teacher walked into a TARDIS… What happens now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twelve got a bit Tucker. I regret nothing.


	10. Three of a Perfect Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After admitting to their feelings, the Doctor, Clara and River must decide on a course of action to take, and how to proceed with their lives together. Thankfully, the Time Lord has a masterful plan... and it involves a very special date...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some complete fluff, because I am trash.
> 
> Title from the album of the same name by King Crimson.

The Doctor pursed his lips and cast his gaze to the metal flooring, shuffling his feet as he thrust his good hand deep into his pocket, pointedly avoiding looking at the two women stood across the console from him. 

“Does that definition make you uncomfortable?” River asked, her tone surprisingly gentle and lacking in the playful tone she usually so enjoyed using. “Or does…”

“It’s…” he gritted his teeth and looked over to her and Clara, barely a microsecond long glance, but enough to cause his hearts to flutter. “I don’t… I’m not…” 

“He’s not good at feelings,” Clara murmured, realisation dawning on her as she took in his posture and his expression, his teeth worrying his lower lip, feeling a rush of love for the awkward Time Lord and his abrupt, unanticipated shyness. “He’s better at being… implied, rather than being so explicit.”

“But why?” River asked in confusion, her brows knitting together as she considered him. “Love is different; love is just…” she sighed, closing her eyes and mumbling: “Love isn’t always something you can convey wordlessly.”

“Oh?” the Doctor asked, quirking an eyebrow at her and then turning his gaze to Clara, flushing a little as he made his confession. “I thought I’d made things very clear, Clara, with what I did…” 

“Doctor?” she asked him, her eyes widening as she understood, with abrupt clarity, what his actions over the past few years symbolised and what he had been trying to say without words. “Was that… everything you did…” 

“I have a duty of care to you, Clara, because I…” he turned a violent shade of maroon that only served to endear him to her further. “Love you, yeah.” 

“And me?” River probed, and he affixed her with a look that he hoped conveyed his emotions in an adequate manner, before remembering her words from moments ago. 

“We’ve just had this discussion, don’t make me say it again,” he grumbled, before noticing the warning glint in her eyes and backtracking, finding newfound courage in the knowledge that both women had imparted to him. “River Song, I love you.” 

She nodded, a relieved smile creeping over her face. “Is this… common?” she asked him uncertainly, gesturing with her hands in an all-encompassing manner. “I mean, is this a thing that all Time Lords can do? Loving two people?” 

“We all… we all have the capacity for it, in the same way humans are capable of things I believe you call,” he sketched disdainful quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “Love triangles.” He made a face. “It can happen with regenerations sometimes: new brain, new chemistry, new body. People can… forget their moral obligations and fall in love all over again. I know of a certain Time Lady who fell in love with her husband’s brother. But it’s never happened to me before, no.” 

“So… where do _we_ go from here?” River asked, looking between the Doctor and Clara. “I mean, you know how I feel about sharing… and this one can be _awfully_ jealous, I fear…” 

“This one,” Clara said sweetly. “Can speak for herself, thanks. I’ve been sharing him with the TARDIS for years, haven’t I? Not to mention the ghost of you. So yeah, I may have been jealous, but then I met you and things all got a bit…” she fumbled for the right words. “Complicated.” 

“Complicated how?” River asked, and Clara threw up her hands in exasperation at the professor’s lack of understanding. 

“Oh yes River, I don’t in any way care for you, that’s why I got so incredibly jealous in Verona, that’s why I went back to my flat and moped for a week.” She exclaimed sarcastically, and River’s mouth formed a small, neat “oh” of understanding. 

“So you…” 

“Like you. _Like_ like you. So, well done there. Bit slow on the uptake.” 

The Doctor swivelled his head between the two of them and sighed in what he hoped was a chagrined manner. “This is a mess, isn’t it?” he said, then gave River a chastising look. “River, why do you have this impact on everyone we meet?” 

“I can’t help being this fabulous,” she purred, wrapping an arm around Clara’s waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Nor can I help it that your friends are so deliciously attractive… or so bitingly intelligent. Falling for her was really just entirely accidental and mostly your fault.” 

“ _My_ fault?” the Doctor asked, feeling a curious sense of happiness as he took in the two women’s familiarity with each other. “I think we all know who’s really to blame here.” He grinned a little then, looking towards Clara with a twinkle in his eyes. “Definitely my Clara’s fault.” 

“Oh, so I’m _your_ Clara now?” Clara teased, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. “And here I was thinking we were going to share.” 

“Clara My Clara Oswald,” he murmured, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Sharing is a wonderful, truly masterful idea. Although trusting you both… after the two of you…”

Something about the look of shame on her face compelled him to cross the room to her and envelop her in his arms, taking in her warmth with a sense of joy, his chest pressed against her back and his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, closing her eyes to keep her tears from falling. “We made a mistake, and we hurt you, but never again… it was…” 

“Clara,” he interrupted gently, guilt consuming him. “It was a joke. Poorly timed.”

“I know, but…” tears began to spill from Clara’s eyes. “We hurt you. And I’m sorry, Doctor.” 

“I know,” he acknowledged with a small shrug. “But it’s in the past. You’ve apologised. So I’m doing the human thing and moving on, and I’m trusting you to be honest now, because I was honest, and god knows it was hard for me, so you can be honest too. _Both_ of you.” 

Clara nodded, looking up at the Doctor and feeling her stomach flutter as he wiped a tear from the curve of her cheek. “Well then,” he decided, smiling softly at her and then looking to River. “River. Trust and sharing?” 

“Trust isn’t an issue, darling. You’ve saved my life enough times. Now, sharing…” she chewed over the thought, her eyes narrowing slightly at the two of them. “Sharing could work, I feel. Just make me one promise.” 

“Name it.” the Doctor said instantly, determined to make this work regardless of the cost. 

“You both try to be less sickeningly cute.” 

“No deal,” Clara teased, squirming away from the Doctor, and he felt the loss of physical contact as keenly as a wound, watching as she crossed the console room to River and wrapped her arms around the older woman’s waist instead, leaning against her and smiling mischievously. “I mean… I could consent to being sickeningly cute _with both of you,_ how would that be?” 

“Acceptable,” River agreed after a moment’s consideration. “Definitely acceptable.” She leant down and pressed a kiss to Clara’s brow. “So… this is rather new.” 

“Mm hm,” Clara concurred, turning to face the Doctor. “Very new indeed. Look at him, all confused.” 

“It’s really rather adorable,” River smirked a little. “He looks like a puppy on Christmas morning.” 

“Clara’s the puppy,” he protested, remembering, dimly, a story she had recounted to him many months before. “Look at those eyes.” 

Clara laughed then, holding out a hand to him and he accepted it gratefully, wrapping his arms around both women then flinching as his wounded hand came into contact with River’s shoulder. 

“Your hand,” River realised, pulling away and examining it for him. “You silly, silly man.” 

“Scottish temper,” he said with a small shrug, trying to brush off the damage, but he winced again as her long, slim fingers probed the knuckles, alighting on the remaining piece of shrapnel. “Please d-”

River tugged at it sharply and it fell to the floor of the TARDIS, a muttered expletive passing through the Time Lord’s lips as she did so, and then his hand was consumed with a bright golden light that cast long shadows around the console room. 

“See? That was a good plan.” River smirked a little as she spoke, and the Doctor gave her an exasperated look as the light faded, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yanking metal out of me. Wonderful idea.” 

“Oh, you’re healing, aren’t you? Stop whinging.”

Clara laughed a little then, wrinkling her nose. “You two are just _such_ an old married couple,” she teased. “Maybe one day we could be the same…”

“Clara,” the Doctor affixed her with a playful look. “We’re already an old married couple. You keep me in check, that’s your job.” 

“This is true…” she mused. “Call you an idiot, that sort of thing. But I wouldn’t call it a job. More of a hobby.” She smiled as she contemplated him, her head tilting to the side as she did so. “A really, really cool hobby, that lets me get cross sometimes.”

He groaned a little then, and she raised her eyebrows questioningly. “Well, now I’ve got double that…” he complained good-naturedly. “Double nagging.” 

“You love us nagging,” River told him primly. “We stop you doing anything weird.” 

“Well,” Clara interjected, adding her own assessment: “anything _overly_ weird. Or annoying.” 

“He’s still fairly annoying,” River admitted. “I mean, that clockwork squirrel…” 

The Doctor groaned again, sitting on the steps and putting his head in his hands in a playful gesture of surrender. “Rassilon save me,” he beseeched aloud. “Double the women…” 

“Hush now, dear.” River chided. “You love us.”

“Yes I do,” he agreed. “Most of the time.” 

“Oh, only _most_ of the time?” Clara asked, giving him a playful look. “Don’t forget, _dearest_ , that the TARDIS is on our side… and she’s more than willing to make your life difficult. Especially given what you just did.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” he murmured, consumed with guilt for his actions, trying to wordlessly convey to his ship how apologetic he felt. “Difficult how?” he asked nervously, licking his lips as he narrowed his eyes at Clara. 

“Well…” she mused. “I’m sure she could disappear a few bathrooms…” 

“Or your workshop,” River interjected. “Or just the doors. You’d be stuck in here with us.” 

“How _terrible_ ,” the Doctor said dryly. “What an _ordeal._ ” 

Clara laughed then, sinking into the reading chair with a smile. “Well now,” she looked to River. “I think that remark merits a date, doesn’t it? Somewhere _nice._ Somewhere _romantic._ Assuming the TARDIS wants to cooperate, and not jettison you into deep space in revenge.” 

“Oh, we can ask her nicely, because it definitely warrants a date. And he can pay.” 

“I don’t carry money!” he protested, holding up his hands defensively, then adding: “Or a credit card.” 

“We’ve had this argument,” Clara reminded him. “UNIT salary. You’re paying. Date. Go on. Surprise us, space man.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He strode around the console to the monitor, placing his palm against it for a second and offering a silent apology, praying for forgiveness and cooperation. After a moment, the monitor flickered into life, and he hesitated before typing in a set of coordinates and setting them into flight, smiling coyly over the monitor at Clara. “You know… I’ve technically taken you on a date.” 

“Robbing a bank and nearly dying,” she affixed him with a playful glare. “Yep, romantic.” 

“You loved it!” he countered. “I know you, Clara Oswald. If danger be the food of love, run on.” 

“Smooth,” she appraised. “And very touché. Now where are we going?” 

“Somewhere cold, so both of you, go and change. Warm clothes. Very warm.” 

“How exciting,” River murmured, rising from her chair and taking Clara’s hand in hers. “You man of mystery, you.” 

With that, the two women disappeared into the bowels of the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor alone with his thoughts. Complicated. He had always known that this would be complicated, that this would be something new… but he had never expected to feel so familiar or so comfortable. He hummed to himself and smiled a little as he descended to the lower level of the TARDIS, resting his forehead against the cool metal and promising repairs and upgrades upon his return, before drawing a scarf from one of the boxes he kept there, and wrapping it around his neck in anticipation of the cold. 

“Back, sweetie,” River called, and he took the stairs two at a time in his eagerness, emerging taking in the sight of her and Clara clad in matching winter coats adorned with fur trimmed hoods, and cosy scarves that he dimly recalled a previous occupant of the TARDIS knitting during one improbably dull afternoon. “Do we meet the required standard for not getting frostbite?”

“Oh, definitely,” he smiled and held out his hands to them both, each woman linking an arm through his as they stepped outside and into what was, at a first glance, an unfamiliar winter wonderland: snow was piled thickly on the rooftops and beside the roads, icicles glinted on window ledges, and frost sparkled on the windowpanes of nearby shops as they strolled downhill at a leisurely pace. 

“Where are we?” River asked curiously, reaching down and scooping up a handful of white powder, compacting it in her hand and examining the resulting orb of glistening crystals. “It’s beautiful.” 

“London,” Clara recognised, as they rounded a corner and took in the sight of the Thames, frozen in its majestic torrent into a smooth, glass-like surface, broken only by Old London Bridge, and covered in tents and stalls of every variety. “We’re in London, aren’t we?”

“1814,” the Doctor informed them with pride. “The last Thames Frost Fair. We’re going ice skating." 

“I…” River hesitated uncertainly, lagging back and causing the Doctor and Clara to come to a halt on the banks of the river. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“Of course I’m sure,” the Doctor assured her. “It’s perfectly safe. They walked an elephant over the ice, I think it’ll hold us.” 

“But… what if we…” 

“You’ve never ice skated before, have you?” Clara realised. “Is that what it is?” 

“I…” River blushed furiously, looking down at the muddied snow at her feet. “Maybe. Didn’t have much snow where I was from.”

“Well, I’ll hold your hand,” Clara assured her in her most pragmatic teacher voice. “I won’t let you fall over. And nor will he.” 

“Won’t I?” the Doctor asked in surprise. “What if it’s amus-” He caught sight of Clara’s glare. “I mean, no, of course I won’t.” 

River scowled, but silently consented to being led by the hand down onto the edge of the ice, and she sat still as the Doctor strapped a pair of worn but reassuringly sturdy skates to the soles of her shoes.

“There,” he told her, smiling at her reassuringly. “You’ll be fine, just hold my hand.”

Clara had already pushed away from the bank, and was circling lazily on the ice, smiling at River encouragingly. “See? It’s easy.” 

“Alright for you to say,” River muttered bitterly as she scowled at the younger woman. “You probably had lessons or something.”

“Don’t make assumptions,” Clara snapped, her voice harsher than intended. “I used to go with my mum. Don’t be a bitch just because you’re scared you won’t be able to do it.” With that, she spun on the spot and skated away into the crowd, leaving River and the Doctor alone together. 

“I didn’t…” River began, chewing her lip. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“Well, you did,” the Doctor said matter-of-factly, crouching by her and meeting her gaze with an easy shrug. “Never mind. Let’s get you skating and we can go and surprise her.” 

“But how…” 

“We’re going to cheat,” the Doctor admitted. “I can skate, so I can impart a telepathic instruction manual to you. Easy peasy, minimum fuss.” 

“You’re a sly dog, you know that?” River murmured, leaning up to peck his lips, and as she pulled away she realised that she was, inexplicably, suddenly confident of how to balance, how to place her feet and how to glide, and she gave him a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you, sweetie.” 

“It’s my pleasure.” he assured her, standing and stepping onto the ice with confidence but promptly falling down, landing on his arse on the ice and blinking in bafflement as River roared with laughter, standing and gliding over to him effortlessly, kneeling beside him and poking her tongue out at him. 

“You know, when you impart instructions… you’re meant to keep a copy,” she teased, pulling him up with a laugh and wrapping her arm around his waist to brush down the tails of his coat. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin as he followed her in increasingly confident arcs across the ice, their fingers entwined as they moved fluidly across the smooth surface of the Thames in search of Clara. “Can you see her?” he asked after a short while, panic entering his tone as he scanned the crowds for her shock of dark hair. “I mean; she’s never sulked _this_ thoroughly before… What if she’s fallen through? Rassilon above, I never thought…”

“Doctor, you’re overreacting, she doesn’t weigh _that_ much,” River told him pragmatically, squeezing his hand. “Besides, she’s right over there.” She raised her hand and pointed to where Clara was sat beside a stall with her back to them, her posture hunched over and her head bowed. “Something…”

“Something’s wrong,” the Doctor realised, pulling away from River and crossing the ice to Clara as rapidly as he could manage, sitting beside her and noting with horror that she was crying, her hand held on her lap an awkward angle. “Clara?” he asked, reaching for her undamaged hand tenderly and brushing the tears from her cheeks before they could freeze in the cold. “What happened?” 

“I…” she looked at him and sniffed in embarrassment, casting her gaze towards her lap as her cheeks turned pinker. “Someone bumped me and I fell over. I’m an idiot, I know, I shouldn’t have gone off, I’m sorry…” 

“Hey,” he said softly. “Not your fault. Let me look.” He eased her glove off gently, apologising profusely as she winced, and took in her swollen wrist, the mottled purple skin, knowing at once what had happened and feeling guilt stir in him as he cursed himself for letting her go off on her own. 

“That’s broken,” River said pragmatically, arriving beside them and placing her hands on Clara’s shoulders in a comforting gesture. “Or at least sprained. Needs strapping up, or-” 

The Doctor flicked his hand until it glowed and then pressed it over Clara’s, ignoring her intake of breath as the wrist returned to its normal size and the bones knitted back together. “Doctor,” she mumbled without real complaint. “You’re an idiot, I didn’t need… you shouldn’t waste that!” 

“Don’t argue, Clara,” he said firmly. “It’s done now. You can thank me at a later point. Or you could thank me now, by holding my hand and actually skating _with_ us both.”

She flexed her wrist experimentally, looking between him and River with contrition. “Sorry,” she murmured. “For sulking. And thanks for fixing me. Even though you’re an idiot for wasting your energy like that.” 

“It’s OK,” River assured her. “And it wasn’t a waste, darling, because it’s _you_. But it does mean you’ve gotta make it up to us both. So the mulled cider is on you, not him.”

Clara smiled a little, pulling herself to her feet clumsily and reaching for River’s hand for support. “We have a deal,” she agreed. “Come on, before I change my mind.” 

Hand in hand, the two women pushed off from the stall, Clara turning to smile at the Doctor as they skated leisurely in the direction of a promising, spiced aroma that she hoped indicated the presence of mulled drinks. “Come on!” she called, her hair tousled by the wind and her cheeks flushed in the cold. “Keep up!”

“Yes boss.” The Doctor affirmed, following them with a chagrined grin.


	11. Looking For Something Dumb to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara proposes an idea to the Doctor and River... an idea that involves a trip to Victorian London. After asking everyone's favourite crime-fighting lesbians to direct them to an open-minded registrar, the Doctor finds himself confronted with an old friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to RumbelleonTimelords, who was enthusiastic about the Paternoster Gang appearing!
> 
> Chapter title from Marry You by Bruno Mars.

“Doctor?” Clara asked, rolling over in bed sleepily and resting her head on his chest, listening to the reassuring rhythm of both of his hearts. “Can I ask a question?” 

“You just did,” River murmured from the other side of the Time Lord, raising her head and shooting Clara a wicked look, poking her tongue out childishly. “I think he’s still asleep, anyway.” 

“Not still asleep. Was still asleep. Then your brain leaked.” The Doctor muttered, his eyes still closed but his tone light. “Really. I’m clothed, you’re clothed, Clara’s clothed. Try to keep your thoughts to yourself.” 

“Stop eavesdropping!” River protested, but she grinned naughtily at her female bedfellow and offered her a secret wink. “It’s rather rude.” 

“What’s rude is what you were thinking about doing,” the Doctor chastised half-heartedly. “It wasn’t eavesdropping when you were basically shouting.” He opened one eye and cast a sideways glance in River’s direction before adding: “I don’t think I’m that bendy.” 

“Clara is,” River smirked, before shrieking as a pillow connected with her face. “Hey! No fair!” 

“Well, stop fantasising about me, weirdo,” Clara exclaimed, buffeting River with the pillow again. “And don’t show him anything with your weird telepathic thing.” 

“I could show _you_ ,” River offered. “Or I could skip that step altogether and just _do_ it to you instead. Cut out the middle man.”

“If you’re going to do that, literally cut me right out,” the Doctor protested feebly. “Please.” 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” River purred, before turning her attention to Clara. “Although sadly, you did _insist_ upon those stupid pyjamas.” 

“Hey!” Clara hit River with the pillow again in protest. “They’re cute!” 

“They have a unicorn on.” 

“Like I said, cute.” Clara grinned, ceding control of the pillow to River and pressing a kiss against the Doctor’s chest through his striped pyjamas. “Not as cute as his though.” 

“He’s a little overdressed…” River mused, slipping one hand underneath his pyjama shirt and resting it over one of his hearts. “But I can live with that.” 

“I am here, you know,” he grumbled. “Right here. Ready to answer your question, Clara.” 

“Oh!” she flushed a little pink as she realised that she had become distracted. “I just thought… you know. We could get married.” 

“We _are_ married, Clara,” he reminded her, dipping his head and resting his chin against her hair as he teased her. “Remember?”

“I meant…” she buried her face in his chest in embarrassment at the stupidity of her idea, but feeling the need to share it anyway. “The three of us. Officially. Legally.” 

“And where would we do that?” River asked curiously, stuffing Clara’s pillow under her own head and affixing the other woman with a questioning look. “I mean, I can think of a couple of places, but I don’t think they’d really welcome me back.”

“I thought about this,” Clara continued, tucking her hair behind her ear with a determined look, before admitting shyly: “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” 

“How _long_ a while?” the Doctor asked in stupefaction. “It’s only been three months.” 

“We got married after _one_ ,” she reminded him. “And as we’ve mutually agreed that we love each other, it seems like a lovely, romantic plan.” 

“You just want another dress, don’t you?” River teased, and Clara laughed a little. 

“Maybe,” she confessed in a wheedling tone. “Like _you_ don’t.” 

“I’m not wholly opposed to the idea,” River mused, biting her lip as she considered it. “Where do you suggest we go though? I feel that’s more of a pressing matter than clothes.”

“Well…” Clara sat up and wrapped her arm around the Doctor’s waist, nuzzling into him and feeling his arm settle around her reciprocally. “Jenny and Vastra must have got married somewhere, right? There can’t be a lot of vicars who do lesbian Victorian weddings with one lizard participant. So, whoever that person is, they’re gotta be pretty liberal, and lurking in Old London.”

“So?” River asked, and Clara grinned at the brilliance of her plan. 

“So we go and find them, and ask for their help.” 

“This seems like an unnecessarily complicated plan.” The Doctor asserted apprehensively. “I mean…” 

“Says the most complicated man I’ve ever met,” Clara countered. “Where’s your sense of fun? Victorian London, mysterious registrars, Silurians… please?” 

He groaned and closed his eyes pre-emptively, knowing what her next move would be but still feeling the need to be certain: “You’re doing the look, aren’t you?” 

“She is,” River confirmed, before adding: “I like her idea, if I’m honest, sweetie.” 

“You would,” he muttered slightly bitterly. “No ganging up on me.”

“There’ll be no ganging up involved if you just agree,” River assured him. “Darling.”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, sitting up a little while keeping his arm securely around Clara. “But you’re making me coffee first.”

River looked to Clara in hope, but the younger woman only raised her eyebrows with incredulity. “No chance."

River sighed in resignation and rolled out of bed, seizing her dressing gown from the back of a chair before exiting the room in pursuit of breakfast, leaving Clara alone in the Doctor’s arms.

“Does it mean that much to you?” he asked her gently, and Clara nodded, hiding her face back in his chest to avoid him seeing the irrational rush of emotions that clouded her face. “Hey.” He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head back until their eyes met, watching her cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet as she saw the compassion in his gaze. 

“I just want it to be… legal. And accepted.” 

“It is-” 

“ _Outside_ the TARDIS. _Outside_ these four walls.” She clarified, biting her lip. “By a law other than some obscure Gallifreyan thing that you claim covers this.” 

“It _does_ cover this. And besides, there’s a few more walls than that,” he said mischievously, leaning in and kissing her gently. “But your point stands, Clara.” 

“So we can go?” Clara asked hopefully, her eyes lighting up at the prospect. 

“Yes we can go, Clara,” he mumbled, kissing her neck and feeling her pulse race under his lips. “Right after breakfast. If River manages to not poison us.” 

“That’s just rude,” came the archaeologist’s voice from outside the door. “I’m not _that_ bad a cook.” She backed into the room with three steaming mugs, setting them down on the bedside table and flashing them both a grin. “I just chose to not risk it.” 

“Well…” Clara reached for a mug and sipped at the hot liquid gratefully. “That’s a nice change.” 

“Shut up, Oswald,” River retorted. “Or you’ll be the one buying breakfast in Victorian London, and if we get cholera, we’ll blame you.” 

“Thanks,” Clara shot back, standing up and stretching luxuriously. “Duly noted. Now, I’m going to get dressed, so you can either come and lace me into a corset, or stay here with our husband. Think fast.” 

“Well…” River pouted a little as she pretended to consider the offer. “I think I’ll stay here momentarily.”

“Corset.” Clara repeated, making the word sound like a promise, and the Doctor groaned loudly.

“ _River,_ ” he begged. “ _Please_ keep your thoughts to yourself. If you’re going to be smutty, go with Clara.” 

“Do we have your blessing?” she asked him with a grin, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Yes,” he assured them. “As long as it doesn’t take more than half an hour.” 

“Time machine.” Clara reminded him, before taking River by the hand and disappearing with her in the direction of the wardrobe, their laughter echoing along the corridors as they ran, stumbling over their pyjamas, in search of clothes. 

“Half an hour…” River murmured, once they were ensconced in the soft, wood-panelled wardrobe room. “That’s not long…” 

“Nope,” Clara concurred, peeling her pyjama top off and casting it aside as she began to root through a cupboard. “So, give me a hand, and I’ll make it worth your while later.”

She felt the other woman’s hands snake around her waist, slipping up to cup her breasts with warm palms. “I can give you two hands…” River whispered, dipping her lips to Clara’s bare shoulder. “But your deal sounds perfectly fair, darling.” With that, she reached past Clara and plucked out a set of undergarments, helping the other woman into them patiently but reluctantly, dipping occasional, distracting kisses to her throat and neck as her hands made light work of the laces. “There. Very elegant.” 

“What about you?” Clara asked, but River only laughed.

“Oh, trust me,” she said confidently. “I’ve got this _all_ under control. Go and wait in the console room, I’ll be right there.” 

Clara turned unwillingly away from her, making her way through the labyrinthine corridors of the TARDIS until she emerged into the soft light of the control room, drinking in the sight of the Doctor stood by the monitors, resplendent in a sharp set of tails and a top hat. “Morning,” she said, and he turned and took in her appearance with a proud smile. “How did you get ready so quickly?” 

“I’m a man of mystery,” he reminded her, then added: “You look very nice.”

“Not wide?”

“Not overly, no.” he grinned at her, tipping her a wink. “No more than I believe is fashionable for the time. Where’s River?” 

“Still changing, I think,” Clara sank into her favourite reading chair with a sigh. “You’re being very cool about all this.” 

“That’s me,” he took off his hat and span it in his hands. “Mr Cool.” 

“You wish.” Clara rolled her eyes. “Mr Weird.” 

“Complaints?” 

“Oh, none. Except possibly the eyebrows.”

“You love my eyebrows, Clara.” 

“I love _you,_ you daft man.” Clara intimated, and even though he’d heard her say it many times over the past few months, the Doctor still felt his face break into a goofy smile as he looked down at her, wondering for the thousandth time how he had got quite so lucky.

“I love you too, my Clara,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her, and it was then that they were interrupted by a small cough, and they both turned to take in the sight of River, garbed in a form-fitting crimson dress. “Wow.” 

“Can I join the love-in?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Because I love you both, despite these depressingly complicated clothes. Nudity is much more my forte.” 

Clara laughed, standing and offering her hand to River. “Oh we know… but you look…” she pondered her choice of words. “Divine.” 

“Well, I am revered as a god in at least three cultures,” the professor teased. “But thank you, darling. Now, has hubby dearest got us to the church on time?” 

“I always get to the hypothetical church on time...” he grumbled under his breath. “Here we go. Victorian London, 1896.” 

“Wow,” Clara mused. “That makes a nice change. Right place, right time. Good boy.” 

“ _Boy_?!” he asked in mock-horror. “I’m over two thousand years old!”

“So you keep _saying,_ ” Clara said impatiently, tugging at his arm encouragingly. “Now. I want to see my favourite lesbians.” 

“I thought _I_ was your favourite lesbian.” River said with a tiny pout, seeking to wind up her girlfriend. 

“You’re my favourite _omnisexual_ ,” Clara corrected, crossing to the doors and sticking her head out. “I want to see my favourite Victorian _lesbians_. You coming?”

“Oh, I will be.” 

“Behave.” Clara chided, stepping outside into the smog-laden air and knocking on the familiar front door, which burst open a moment later. 

“How can I – Miss Clara!” Strax exclaimed, looking her up and down with a trained eye. “To what do we owe this unexpected incursion?”

“Is Madame Vastra in?” she asked brightly. “Or Jenny?” 

“They are both in the conservatory.” He leaned in with obvious concern, lowering his voice to what passed as a whisper to the Sontaran. “Why did you bring the human with the enormous head?” 

“It’s hair,” River assured him with exasperation. “Now, dear, can we come in, or am I going to have to shoot you?” 

“That is fighting talk!” Strax protested, his excitement levels immediately rising. “MADAME, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!” With that, he turned and disappeared back into the house, propelled by his short legs, and Clara burst into laughter. 

“What did you do that for?!” the Doctor asked River furiously. “You know how overexcited he gets!” 

“Well, it saved time, didn’t it?” River smiled with feigned innocence. “And besides, he’s probably bored out of his tree without any wars to plan.” 

“That he is,” came a soft voice, and all three visitors snapped their heads up and took in the black-garbed figure at the end of the hallway. “Welcome, guests.” 

“Madame Vastra,” the Doctor stepped forwards and smiled apologetically. “Sorry about popping by like this, and for… firing up your butler.” 

“It is of no consequence to us, Doctor,” the Silurian threw back her veil and smiled in return. “I am happy to see you so well. I sense that your two companions may have something to do with that. Please, do come in.” 

Clara stepped inside, her hand finding River’s and squeezing as they followed the Doctor and Vastra down the corridor to the brightness of their conservatory, the warmth encircling them as they blinked in the brightness, taking in the rich, exotic plants and their heady aromas. 

“Miss Clara!” Jenny exclaimed joyfully, jumping to her feet in greeting. “We weren’t sure if Strax ‘ad made another of his mistakes. We’ve sent him for more tea, until ‘e’s calm.”

“Probably a good choice, yeah…” Clara agreed, stepping forward to embrace Jenny. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“It’s good to see you, and ‘imself! Looking better, Doctor… and this is your wife, yeah?” Jenny grinned and extended her hand to River in a more formal gesture. “What a lovely couple.” 

“Pleasure to meet you properly… under much lovelier circumstances.” River took Jenny’s proffered hand and kissed it, causing the girl to blush fiercely. “I am indeed the wife. _One_ of the wives.”

“One of?” Vastra interjected inquisitively, taking a seat and indicating that her guests should do the same. “Enlighten us, please.” 

“Well,” the Doctor sank into a chair opposite the Silurian, wondering how to frame the situation. “Clara and I… sort of… got married.” 

Jenny nearly choked. “You… married…” 

“Each other, yes,” Clara confirmed, her head held high. “I love him.” 

“Well, Doctor.” Vastra gave him a long look that he couldn’t quite place. “How do you feel about this development?” 

“I love her, Vastra, and that… that runs deep.” 

“Well,” she smiled at him with obvious delight. “You took your time, didn’t you?” 

“I…” the Doctor fell momentarily silent as he contemplated her words. “What?” 

“It was plain as day upon your last visit, Doctor. We often wondered how long it would take you both.” Vastra looked up at him coyly. “But where does Doctor Song come into this equation?” 

“We both love her,” Clara admitted, reticent about the admission. “You know. Despite the previous complications.” 

“Golly,” Jenny said with awe. “’Ow modern. And ‘ere I was thinking we was something different…”

“Indeed, my dear.” Vastra looked at her wife lovingly, before returning her attention to the Time Lord. “And I suppose you have come to us to ask for our help with formalising things?” she asked, and the Doctor nodded. “Well, we can certainly do that. But please, first, do take tea with us. We have many questions.” 

Strax returned to the room with a laden tray, setting it carefully down between the five of them. “Madame.” 

“Thank you, Strax. If you would be so kind as to pour for our guests.” She held up a warning finger, silencing his objections in advance. “Yes, that includes Doctor Song.” 

“But-” 

“No buts, Strax,” she said firmly, supervising him as he began to pour the tea ritualistically, distributing the cups among the guests. “Now, do start at the very beginning.” 

“Well,” Clara said uncertainly, wondering where to begin and taking a fortifying sip of her tea while she gathered her thoughts. “It was really only a convenience thing, at first. My dad was unwell, so we got married as a sort of… last act to make him happy. It was supposed to be quite easy and quick, but then he… he died on the evening of the wedding.” 

“I looked after Clara afterwards,” the Doctor struck up helpfully. “But I felt guilty about River, so after a while I gave her a call and explained things…”

“And I turned up, _most_ dramatically.” River grinned at the memory. “We rowed, but then Miss Oswald here got me rather drunk, and things progressed from there.” 

“And when did you realise that there was love between you?” Vastra asked, seeking understanding of a relationship she could hardly begin to fathom. 

“When I realised I couldn’t stand the thought of losing either of them,” Clara confessed softly. “I nearly did, because of my own stupidity, and so… I knew then… I knew then that I was in love.” 

“You loved him before,” Vastra stated simply. “I could see it between you, before he changed. And I could see his love for you, as plain as day. So it pleases me, to know that finally you spoke the words that burdened you, and that Doctor Song was so… magnanimous in her acceptance.” 

“We were lucky, yes,” Clara smiled, reaching for the Doctor’s hand and squeezing gently. “And things are lovely, but we were wondering if… perhaps you could tell us who performed your wedding service, so that we could go and see them and make things sort of… official. _More_ official.”

“Certainly, Miss Oswald.” Vastra smiled, her expression tinged with something Clara couldn’t place. “He was a strange fellow, if I’m honest, but open-minded. He would be… more than happy to assist you three.” 

River smiled at the Doctor triumphantly. “Seems like Clara’s plan was fruitful. Genius.” 

“I’m always right, darling,” Clara reminded her impishly. “One day you’ll remember that.” 

“Oh, I know. It does make such a delicious change from him being right all the time.” The professor smirked, and the Doctor feigned a scowl. 

“Now, ladies,” he cautioned half-heartedly, wagging a finger. “Be nice.” 

“We’re always nice,” Clara pouted. “Honest.” 

Jenny grinned at the exchange, standing and crossing the room to a small dresser in one corner, rifling through it before extracting a card and holding it out to the Doctor between her fingertips. “’Ere you go. It’s not far, you could walk if you fancied. Just make sure if ‘e says yes, you give us an invite first.” 

“Oh, we shall,” the Doctor assured her, pocketing the card and finishing his drink in readiness. “Excellent tea, by the way. Would it be OK if…” 

“Oh, certainly Doctor. Who are we to impede a man and two women in love?” Vastra affixed them with an unreadable smile, standing and politely escorting them to the door. “I’m not sure I will ever understand your world, but it’s wonderful that you’ve found love.” 

“Indeed,” River smiled. “It was a pleasure to meet you, however briefly.” 

“Oh, Jenny was most serious about our invitation, Doctor Song.” Vastra reaffirmed, a twinkle in her eye. “I have a most exquisite gown I should like to wear. So we shall see you shortly, I hope.” 

“We’ll be sure to,” Clara promised her, smiling warmly. “Thank you for the help.”

“It was our pleasure. Now, make haste. Then perhaps you can be wed before sunset, and we can take you for drinks at one of our choicer selections of venue.”

The Doctor nodded in affirmation, before he stepped outside and took out the small card, watching it sparkle faintly in the sunlight. “It’s the next street,” he realised. “How… fortunate.” 

“Doctor?” Clara asked, taking the card and turning it over in her hands. “What, you think it’s a trap?” 

“No, I think it’s a coincidence,” he frowned a little, already striding off in the direction of the indicated house. “And I don’t like coincidences. Coincidences and I are not friends.”

“Well…” Clara raced after him, River hot on her heels, the two of them exchanging a worried look as they caught up with him. “Maybe it’s nothing weird, maybe it just _is_ a coincidence?”

“Or maybe it’s not,” the Doctor repeated suspiciously, ascending the steps of a haphazard-looking, red-doored townhouse, surveying the wood with narrowed eyes before lifting the knocker and letting it fall three times. 

The door burst open with a crash, and there, framed in the doorway, was a dark haired man with a broad smile and a long coat that was, even to the untrained eye, a distinct anachronism for the period. The Doctor’s mouth fell open. 

“Jack?”


	12. Three Way Love Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is overjoyed to see his old friend, and even more overjoyed by the Doctor's choice of companions. Once they've finally convinced him to stop flirting, it's time to call in a favour... of the matrimonial kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I've had a manic, manic few days, it feels like much longer than a week since I've updated this! Anyway, here's some more fluffiness. Enjoy.
> 
> Chapter title from the song of the same name by Elton John.

“I…” Jack frowned, realisation dawning on him slowly and a smile overtaking his face. “Doctor?” 

“The one and only-” was as much as the Doctor managed, before Jack roared with delight and swept him into a bone-crushing hug, slapping him on the back merrily as they stood on the doorstep. 

“Come in, come in!” Jack exclaimed as he pulled away, beaming widely, standing aside and holding the door open. The three travellers followed him down a long, darkened hallway, emerging in a sitting room that was packed with an eclectic mix of leather-bound books and future technology. “Jenny and Vastra told me all about this new body!” he enthused, looking the Doctor up and down with a practiced eye. “Loving the grey hair, bit of a silver fox thing going on there, I like it… and those eyebrows, damn! Sorry I missed it, I mean… I would’ve come and said hi, but you seemed a little busy last time with the dinosaur, so I left you guys to it… figured you’d come back around in the end. It’s been a while.” 

“Well I’ve been a little busy…” the Doctor muttered with embarrassment, the tips of his ears turning pink as he refused to meet Jack’s gaze, concentrating hard on examining his nails instead. 

“So I can see,” Jack teased, turning to Clara and River and bowing low in an exaggerated gesture. “Captain Jack Harkness, at your service ladies. Can I just say what excellent taste the Doctor has in-” 

River’s hand connected sharply with Jack’s cheek and he raised his eyebrows in shock as the skin reddened. 

“Well, now, that’s not awfully friendly,” he observed dryly, rubbing the side of his face and grimacing. “What was that for, darling?” 

“This _darling_ is called Professor River Song. His _wife._ That slap was for what you did with him on Arantia,” River smiled at him, silently challenging him to argue with her. “He told me _all_ about it.” 

Jack smirked a little, winking at the Time Lord over River’s shoulder. “Not my fault the old man got a little curious.” 

“That’s one way of phrasing _blackout drunk,_ yes,” River said, but her anger was dissipating in the face of Jack’s charm, and she smiled in spite of herself. “Maybe it’s an experience we could repeat, though? You, me, him, the other wife, and some wine?”

“The _other…_ wife…?” Jack looked stupefied and turned his attention to Clara. “Well, hello…” 

“Don’t start.” The Doctor warned impatiently, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying hello, am I not allowed to say hello to people now?” he winked at Clara before smiling winningly at her, taking her hand and kissing it with reverence. “Captain Jack Harkness, pleasure t-” 

“You already did that part,” she reminded him with a grin, feeling herself blush at his chivalrous gesture. “But, the pleasure is all mine. Clara Oswald.” 

“Down girl,” River teased. “You’ve got one man already.” 

“Just the one?” Jack asked, raising his eyebrows in mock-surprise. “I bet more than that, you’re a very attractive woman.”

“And I’m not?” River asked, and for once Jack was rendered speechless, his mouth opening and closing uselessly in the face of her jesting. “Oh, relax, I’m just teasing. Besides, I wouldn’t call Eyebrows a ‘man.’ I’m sure she’s got some human admirers somewhere though.” 

“You’re human… mostly,” Clara noted, giving River a look. “Failing on the man front, though.” 

“Terribly sorry to disappoint,” River pouted, before affixing Clara with a smouldering gaze. “You didn’t seem to mind last-” 

“Both of you, behave,” the Doctor interrupted, cutting River off mid-sentence. “Jack… well, a thing happened. Two things.” 

“That’s a rude way to describe a wedding,” Clara mused aloud, her tone dangerous, looking to River for back-up. “Isn’t it?” 

“Terribly rude. I mean, ours was rather excellent, and the wedding night…” she tsked a little, tilting her head to one side. “ _Such_ a rude alien.”

“Doctor…” Jack affixed the Time Lord with an incredulous stare, unsure how seriously to take matters. “They’re kidding, right? You didn’t actually…”

“Get married?” the Doctor said weakly. “Twice? Me? No. Never.” 

“And by _never_ he means… he did exactly that,” River clarified. “And now he’s up shit creek, because-”

“ _Language_ ,” the Doctor chided, blushing again. “Yes, that is a thing I did. Two things I did.”

“Well, you old dog…” Jack crowed, high-fiving the uncomfortable Time Lord in congratulations. “Good job, old man.”

“Old man?!” the Doctor blustered, his eyebrows knitting together in bemusement. “We’re practically the same age!” 

“Well, I cheated,” Jack reminded him smugly, flexing his muscles a little and looking to Clara as he did so. “And it’s not like I age physically.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t age?” Clara asked him, the words slipping out unbidden as her curiosity got the better of her. “How?” 

“I ah…” Jack looked to the Doctor in resignation. “Guessing the old man hasn’t explained, then.”

“We weren’t exactly anticipating finding you here, Jack,” the Doctor said patiently. “Remember?”

“Good point, fairly made. Well, Miss Oswald, I died in a most _heroic_ way with his ninth body, and an old companion of his… she did a thing. Brought me back to life with the time vortex, only it’s sorta… permanent.” 

“Wow,” Clara breathed, exhaling in surprise. “Blessing, or curse?” 

“That would depend, ma’am,” Jack looked at her with sadness, then to the Doctor. “As I’m sure this guy can tell you, it’s generally something of a curse.”

“How _did_ you get stuck here, anyway?” the Doctor asked, trying to change the subject to something less morose. “I left you in Cardiff. _Minus_ a vortex manipulator; you cause enough trouble in _one_ time zone.” 

“Was on a job with UNIT in Cardiff. Mysterious disappearances from down by the Bay. Was walking through a cemetery with the team… next thing I know… here I am, the next mysterious disappearee.” 

“Oh,” the Doctor realised, eyes widening as clarity dawned. “ _Oh._ Touch of an angel.” 

“Sometimes, Space Man, you make no sense,” Jack chided, before curiosity got the better of him. “What do you mean, angel? The only angel I can see is five foot two and dressed in blue…” 

“Watch it,” Clara warned half-heartedly, smacking his arm. “Mr Smooth.”

“A Weeping Angel. Look like stone, aren’t stone. Fastest creatures in the universe, but only when you aren’t looking. They zap you back in time, let you live to death… kill you nicely. Guess you ended up back here with Jenny and Vastra, what a small world. Nice place, bit polluted… fancy leaving?”

“Doctor, I thought he was doing us a favour!” Clara protested, but the Doctor held up one hand and she fell silent. 

“Yes, no? Post-favour, that is.” 

“Doctor…” Jack began, sighing while looking down and shuffling from foot to foot. “That sounds great, but there’s a problem with that.” 

“No there isn’t. I’ve got a TARDIS, you’re stuck here, I’ll pop you back just after you got zapped off. Mission complete, no problem.” 

“No, Doctor, _I’ve_ got… well… a problem…” 

“What _kind_ of problem?” the Doctor asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Jack to try to appraise the situation, and it was at that precise moment that the sound of crying began from several rooms away.

“That kind…” Jack muttered in embarrassment, slinking out of the door, and the Doctor looked incredulous, sinking into a chair with his head in his hands, running them through his hair. 

“All of time and space, and he still can’t take reasonable precautions…” he muttered under his breath. “Damn him, honestly, he never _learns_...”

“Doctor, precautions haven’t been _invented_ yet. Be nice.” River warned in a low voice, as Jack stepped back into the room, a baby held awkwardly in his arms, still wailing. River looked to them both distastefully, but Clara felt her heart melt and stepped a little closer, looking down at the small child and smiling at them in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. 

“So, ah… this is Charlotte,” he explained, rocking her self-consciously, clearly unsure of what to do to allay her cries. “The _problem._ But before you ask, Doctor, she’s not mine, so don’t try and get on your high horse.”

“Oh! So, where’s the problem?” the Time Lord enthused, and Clara rolled her eyes at his lack of sensitivity, crossing to Jack and holding her arms out. She beamed as Jack laid the infant in them, cooing softly, and the child fell blessedly silent, staring up at Clara with wide, curious eyes. 

“How did you do that?!” Jack asked Clara in bewilderment, but she only winked at him. “If you gotta know, she was a friend’s. Isabella. She died having her.” He looked over as Clara cradled the child to her, stroking her cheek with a fingertip and murmuring to her soothingly. “I made a promise to her, that I’d look after Charlotte, so you can see my issue.” 

“Well, bring her with you,” River proposed pragmatically. “She’ll love the twenty-first century, it’s all boys and Snapchat and underage drinking.” 

“I…” he hesitated, biting his lip as he dithered at the prospect. “I’m just not sure.” 

“Jack, she’ll have a better life,” Clara said kindly, letting the infant suck on her fingertip. “I mean; this isn’t a place for kids. Or women in general. Corsets, no vote, marriage, no contraception or education…” 

“Because the twenty-first century is so much better?” Jack snapped, before sighing and looking down, closing his eyes as his anger waned. “Sorry. I’m just… sure. We can go.” 

“Favour first,” River reminded him gently, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Once you’ve prised the baby off Clara. Good luck with that.” 

“She’s cute, and she’s nearly asleep,” Clara said defensively, pressing a kiss to Charlotte’s forehead. “One-nil to me. Let her doze off, and then I promise I’m all yours for the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Jack asked with surprise, looking between the three of them. “Is that why you came by? I was wondering why the social call.”

“We want everything to be official between the three of us, reciprocally,” the Doctor explained. “So, we figured we’d find a registrar, and Clara thought asking Jenny and Vastra would be a good place to start. So here we are. There, all caught up.” 

“A three-way wedding? Well, I need details, Doctor…” Jack teased. “Like how you came to be married to two gorgeous ladies, while I’m still single…”

“The details are: _your baby is asleep;_ so maybe we can catch up on the return trip, post-wedding.” Clara noted, handing a slumbering Charlotte back to Jack. “She’s an angel.” 

“She’s not, she’s Satan Incarnate,” Jack complained bitterly, beaming down at her anyway. “And for the last time, she’s _not mine_.”

“She’s a baby, Jack. You’ve had lots of babies.” The Doctor gave him a stern look. “You should be Super-Dad by now.” 

“Yeah, but they were _my_ kids. There’s a difference. Look, are you going to keep ragging on me for caring for an orphaned baby, or are you going to get married?” 

“Don’t get all Charles Dickens on us, idiot,” Clara teased. “Married would be good, if it’s convenient.” 

“Well then. Suit up, I’ll de-baby, and be right with you.” Jack smiled a little as he disappeared upstairs with Charlotte, and Clara moved to the Doctor’s side, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his. 

“He seems nice,” she observed quietly, resting her head against his chest. “A little flirty, but nice.” 

“Flirty is an understatement…” the Doctor whispered, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. “Sorry about that. _My_ Clara.” 

“You were flirty once,” River reminded him pointedly. “A couple of regenerations ago. It was fun, but it did get a little wearing. I do rather enjoying taking the lead.” 

Clara laughed and held her free hand out to River, smiling as the other woman took it, before coming and wrapping her arms around both Time Lord and human. “My Clara,” River mimicked, and Clara giggled. “Well, _our_ Clara, at least.”

“I like that,” Clara affirmed, kissing River quickly before pulling away and looking up to the Doctor. “Being yours.” 

“That’s saying a lot, coming from the egomaniac,” he quipped, and Clara scowled playfully in response, her expression softening as he tapped her nose. “I’m just teasing. But it _does_ mean a lot for you to relinquish control.” 

“Maybe that should be her vow,” River suggested. “’I, Clara Oswald, do relinquish my control freak tendencies in lieu of being a domestic little wifey of two.’” 

“Shut up,” Clara protested. “I don’t _do_ domestic.” 

“She really doesn’t,” the Doctor concurred, and Clara smacked his arm. “Ow! OK, your desserts are pretty alright.” He caught sight of her expression and self-corrected: “I mean. Excellent. Really excellent desserts.” 

“Better,” she smiled warmly and nuzzled into his chest again. “Much better.” 

Jack re-entered the room and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’m good to… you know. Marry you now.” 

“Well then,” River grinned, brushing her dress down and adjusting her hair. “Let’s get married. _Again_.” 

Clara pulled away from the Doctor and moved to stand beside River, before remembering something abruptly and turning to Jack. “We need witnesses!” she exclaimed. “And we promised Jenny and Vastra…” 

“I already called them,” Jack explained, ignoring the Doctor’s suspicious glare. “They’re on their way over now. No sweat.”

“How did you…” the Doctor began, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Jack’s scurrying off to respond. “That _bloody_ man, he’s impossible…”

“Doctor!” Vastra exclaimed joyfully as she entered the room, Jenny beside her. “What a happy reunion for you. We’re sorry about the rather clandestine nature of the whole business. But we thought you would be glad to reunite with an old friend.” 

“That’s quite alright,” the Doctor concurred with a pleasant smile. “It was a surprise.” 

“You hate surprises.” Clara reminded him, and he glowered at her.

“Not rogue Time Agent surprises,” he said, determinedly optimistic. “They’re excellent.” 

“Miss Clara, Miss River… we brought you both flowers. A bride should always ‘ave flowers, and we grew these ourselves,” Jenny said brightly, changing the topic in an expert manner, and she held out a bouquet of bright, tropical blooms to each woman. “You both look pretty. Love makes you all glowing, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Vastra concurred with a smile, taking Jenny’s hand and moving to one side of the room graciously to permit the lovers centre-stage. “Love is a most wonderful tonic.” 

“That it is, ma’am. Right, ready to get this show on the road?” Jack asked, clapping his hands together, and all three travellers nodded at him, linking hands in a circle. “Well then. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of these three people in holy-ish matrimony. Assuming God isn’t really bothered by this whole thing. Which he probably is, but never mind.”

Clara bit back a giggle.

“So, God, if you’re really up there and not just something that humans made up… these people love each other, and if you’re not OK with that, I guess you’re not really the kind of guy I’d wanna drink with, so maybe we should make this a little more atheistic. These three people love each other, and want to commit to each other. In the presence of myself and these witnesses, they will now make vows to that effect, pledging full and complete commitment.” 

“Jack, how qualified are you for this?” the Doctor complained, and Jack glared at him in response. 

“Not at all, but more qualified than you, sunshine, so vows, now.” 

“Right,” River said decisively, squeezing the Doctor and Clara’s hands and beaming at them both. “I’ll start, shall I? Doctor, we’ve done this all before, so you know our story and you know the depth of my feelings, I won’t bore you with it again. You know that I loved you from the moment I met you, I’ll repeat that part... and I’d like to reiterate that I know I will love you until my last breath, and I would go the end of time and space for you. Although that’s generally your job. So, I commit to you, fully and completely.” 

She took a breath and then looked to Clara, smiling lovingly at the younger woman. “Clara Oswald. The first time we met, it was in a dream, and these past few months have been exactly that: a dream. I never thought I could come to love a bossy school-teacher, and Lord knows there were bumps along the way, but miracles happened eventually, and – _stop glaring at me, I’m trying to be nice_ – I couldn’t pick a better person to share this angry old Scot with. So, I love you, and I commit to you, as fully and completely as I do to him.” 

Clara blushed, feeling tears fill her eyes, and she looked up at River through her eyelashes, mouthing a silent thanks. “I’ll go next,” she murmured, looking up more confidently and clearing her throat. “River. The first time you found out about me and the Doctor, there was a row, and there was wine, and there was a whole lot of stuff I’m not proud of. Maybe don’t get me drunk too often. But now I don’t know where I’d be without you and your wit and your passion, so I commit to you, fully and completely, because I love you and your madcap ways.”

It was then that she turned her gaze up to the man she loved, and wondered how to phrase her emotions in the most eloquent way. “Doctor. As Jane Austen once said, _you have bewitched me, body and soul._ You are the only man I will ever love, and I trust you with my life. You’ve shown me the stars; you’ve shown me a way of life I could never have contemplated; you’ve made me a better person… and through it all, you’ve been there for me. I love you, my wonderful Doctor, my daft old man, and so I commit to you, fully and completely.” 

The Doctor’s eyes were misty with tears as he looked down at them both. “River Song… we’ve been through some things, haven’t we?” he smiled at her, as she reciprocated the gesture. “And through it all, you were a constant to me – a constant source of joy, of support and of love. You’re my partner in crime and you’re my biggest fan, even if sometimes I disapprove of you. I love you, and I commit to you fully and completely.”

He kissed her cheek tenderly and then turned his attention to Clara. “Now then… Clara Oswald. I owe my life to you, my impossible girl… you made the ultimate sacrifice for a madman in a box, and I was blind to my feelings for so, so long. But now I know that I have a duty of care to you, and I swear to uphold that throughout time and space, because… well, what can I say? I love you, and thus I commit to you, fully and completely, my Clara.” He reached up to cup her cheek gently, brushing his thumb over her lips. “For always, both of you.”

“Well, that was all very touching. I’m guessing you’ve all already got rings, right?” Jack asked brightly, and the Doctor looked suddenly stricken, patting his pockets down before cursing under his breath. 

“I knew there was something I should’ve got…” he muttered. “We can pick some up next planet we stop at. Nice ones. Expensive ones. I promise.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Clara informed him with exasperation. “A massive one.” 

“Seconded.” River rolled her eyes. “ _Rings._ How could you forget _rings?_ ” 

“Be nice, I could still back out,” the Doctor reminded them, looking to Jack for support. “Couldn’t I?” 

“No can do,” Jack informed him smugly. “It’s already legal. Legal-ish. As legal as I make it.” 

“Great,” the Doctor pretended to groan, and Clara wrapped her arm around him, grinning at his ineptitude. “I’ll sort the rings later on. Promise.”

“Well then,” Jack said with a twinkle in his eye. “I now pronounce you husband, wife and wife. You may kiss the brides, but don’t go any further in my lounge, thanks.”

Clara laughed and leaned up to kiss the Doctor, then watched with a feeling of contentment as he kissed River gently, taking both of their hands in hers. “So,” she said, turning to look at Vastra and Jenny. “Now, know any good pubs around here? River and I have a Time Lord to drink under the table…”


	13. All I Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a very special day on board the TARDIS, and the Doctor has exciting plans. But something has been weighing on Clara's mind... and she has a very important question to ask...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is being posted so late... I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Chapter title from All I Ask by Adele.

Clara was awoken on what – by her careful estimations – equated to Valentine’s Day by a loud knocking on her bedroom door, followed by said door crashing open to reveal River, clad only in a red lingerie, a seductive smile, and a small pair of white cherub wings. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” the professor enthused, smirking at her wife as she stepped over the threshold. “I hope _you_ like the outfit, hubby dearest looked somewhat apoplectic when he saw me.” 

Clara laughed. “Happy Valentine’s to you too,” she said with a warm smile, before adding curiously: “where’d you get the wings?” 

“The wardrobe and I have an… _understanding,_ ” River intimated with a grin. “That is, she understands I need to get laid, and attempts to facilitate that.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Clara said fondly, patting the bed beside her and smiling as River took a seat. “Absolutely incorrigible. You just like teasing him, don’t you? He’s gonna have a heart attack one day.” 

“Well, it is rather entertaining, I must admit,” River mused. “As a side effect. Mainly I enjoy teasing you.” 

“This isn’t teasing,” Clara told her matter-of-factly. “You’re clothed and not touching me. Doesn’t qualify as teasing.”

“That can be changed…” River leant towards Clara, her lips parted softly, and it was then that the bedroom door flew open again, the soft lights from the corridor framing the bemused Time Lord with a soft halo of blue light. 

“River, are you _still_ wearing that ridiculous outfit?” he blustered, his eyes darting around the room as he tried to look anywhere _but_ at her. “Look, both of you get changed and then meet me in the console room. Important business to sort out.” 

“What sort of business?” Clara asked suspiciously, wondering whether he was attempting to trick them, or whether he really had overlooked the occasion. 

“Important time travel business, Clara. What else would it be?” 

“You mean… oh my god, you’ve actually forgotten, haven’t you?” Clara asked in horror, trying to quell her anger as she fought to keep her temper. 

“Forgotten what?” he asked blankly, and she groaned loudly, lying back against the pillows before sitting up and affixing him with a glare.

“You are _such an alien._ ” She muttered angrily, putting her hands over her face. “Just forget it, and shoo, so we can change. Go on.” 

She flapped her hands at him and he disappeared obediently, leaving Clara and River alone to commiserate. 

“How can he actually be that oblivious?” Clara asked, getting out of bed and beginning to get dressed. “Big old brain and still no idea how to please a woman.” 

“Oh, he knows how to do that,” River smirked, before catching sight of Clara’s bitter expression. “Sorry. Not helping. He was never much good at romance, if it’s any consolation.” 

“He’s _hopeless,_ ” Clara sighed, sinking onto her dressing table stool and starting to apply makeup methodically, pouting a little as she applied lipstick. She watched in awe as River opened the wardrobe and removed a knee-length shirt dress that Clara was _certain_ hadn’t been there moments before. “How did you do that?” 

“Told you. The wardrobe and I go _way_ back.” River smiled smugly as she changed into it, twirling a little to check her reflection in the mirror before focusing on Clara. “You look beautiful, by the way.” 

“Not as beautiful as you,” Clara murmured, blushing at the compliment. “You gotta teach me how to do that with the wardrobe.”

“Less chit chat, more console room!” came the Doctor’s voice over the speakers, interrupting their conversation, and both women rolled their eyes in synchronicity. 

“Well, look on the bright side,” River said cheerfully, taking Clara’s hand as they meandered through the corridors. “We can always have our own Valentine’s Day later on. Once he’s tinkering.” 

“That’s t-” Clara fell silent as they entered the console room and took in the sight before them: The Doctor, in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, holding two large bunches of red roses and looking slightly bashful. “You complete _arse,_ ” she chided, feeling her anger melt away. “You absolute idiot.” 

“Oh come on,” he scoffed. “Like I’d really forget.” 

“You _would_ really forget.” River reminded him, ascending the steps and kissing him gently, before sniffing the roses and smiling. “Hazards of living in a time machine.”

“But it’s a time machine _with a reminder system,_ ” he said proudly, gesticulating to the console. “Made sure I’d remember Saint Valentine’s Day. Plus the fact we’ve been married for two months today... Well… Two linear months. Probably in here a bit longer.” He looked to Clara with a nervous smile. “How am I doing?” 

“Pretty well,” she admitted, as she crossed the room to him, taking the roses in one arm and wrapping the other around his waist, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Have you been reading my Jane Austen again?” 

“Better, I’ve been _meeting_ your Jane Austen,” he smiled proudly at his stroke of genius. “The roses were her idea. So was the next part of the plan.”

“What’s the next part of the plan?” River asked, and the Doctor grinned mysteriously. 

“You’ll need to change,” he told them with a coy smile. “But I’m saying no more.” 

“We _just_ got dressed!” Clara protested, but her smile betrayed her excitement. “What _should_ we be wearing?”

“Formalwear. That much I can say.” He raised his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “Go, change. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Fine,” Clara grumbled half-heartedly, turning on her heel and returning to her room with her flowers, arranging them in a TARDIS-provided vase of water with care. “I thought you said he doesn’t do romantic?” she asked River, who shrugged.

“He doesn’t, usually,” she confessed, opening the wardrobe and extracting two formal dresses with a flourish. “Nice wardrobe. Good wardrobe. Wardrobe is in on this plan, I feel.” 

“It’s a wardrobe,” Clara noted, taking the smaller, red dress from River and admiring it, before starting to undress. “It can’t be in on it.” 

“It’s a _sentient_ wardrobe in a _sentient_ time machine,” River reminded her, watching idly as Clara slipped the dress on and zipped it up. “It knows things. Like romantic plots.” 

“Creepy,” Clara said firmly. “That is creepy. I don’t want to think about my wardrobe telling the Doctor things.” 

“Yeah, like the rest of the TARDIS doesn’t…” River raised one eyebrow at Clara, pulling on her own gown and then realising she had a small issue. “Can you button my dress for me?” 

Clara turned and took in the image of River, resplendent in a floor length silver gown, letting out a small sigh of appreciation. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, beginning to do up the tiny pearlescent buttons, dipping occasional kisses to River’s neck as she did so. “And you’re OK too, I guess.” She laughed, dancing away from River for a moment, before wrapping her arms around the older woman’s waist and smiling. “I’m kidding. But I do feel kinda underdressed.” 

“Clara,” River said playfully. “Don’t be stupid. We both know you’re gorgeous, so stop playing down the narcissism.” 

“Hey!” Clara protested, smacking her arm lightly but laughing despite herself. “I just feel like red and silver-” 

“Complement each other nicely. They do. The TARDIS is good at these things. Now. Let’s go see what he’s planned, shall we? More specifically, whether we need to veto it.” 

Clara took her hand and they retraced their earlier route to the console room, the Doctor breaking into a fond smile when he saw them. 

“My two ladies,” he said proudly, before the TARDIS beeped at him and he amended: “Three ladies. My mistake.” 

“I forget there’s a fourth person in this marriage,” River mused, running one finger along the edge of the console. “Not that I’m complaining, if she takes us to that planet with all the s-”

“We’re not going back there, River,” he said firmly. “I had a better idea. And it took me two weeks, so be nice.” 

“What idea _is_ it?” Clara asked, narrowing her eyes a little, and the Doctor beamed in response. 

“Darillium,” he said confidently, evidently pleased with the idea, before noticing Clara’s blank expression. “Darillium. As in, the Singing Towers of?” 

“Nope,” she admitted with a small shrug. “You have _never_ mentioned them.” 

“He has,” River said quietly, before turning her attention to the Doctor and looking up at him in stupefaction. “You always promised to take me… I thought you’d forgotten…” 

“Hang on, am I gate-crashing something here?” Clara asked with a small stab of irritation. “Because I can, you know, mind the TARDIS or something, while you two go off and have fun.” 

“Clara,” the Doctor assured her, taking her hand. “It is a beautiful, romantic place and I wanted to bring you _both._ Try not to sulk.” 

“I’m trying not to sulk,” Clara said, fighting down a frown and her feelings of jealousy. “Honest.” 

“Well your face would say otherwise.” His eyebrows knitted together in consternation, as he placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “Just, please. Smile for me, Clara Oswald.”

“Fine,” she conceded, unable to stay cross with him and feeling her face break into a smile. “I’ll be good.” 

“Well then,” the Doctor returned the gesture, before offering an arm to each woman. “Shall we dine?”

The three of them stepped outside, arm in arm, and looked around at the restaurant, taking in the cascades of flowers that covered every surface, lights twinkling softly through the blooms. From behind a lectern, a hostess smiled at them graciously, stepping forward with a thick, leather-bound tome in her hand. “Good evening. Welcome to Darillium. May I take your name?” 

“The Doctor, plus two.” The Doctor said politely, and she ran a finger down the page, stopping when she found their details and setting the ledger back down. 

“Certainly. A table on the balcony; an excellent choice, sir. If you’d like to follow me this way.” She led the way through a curtain of flowers that provided the restaurant with a thick, exotic scent to a balcony that overlooked the Towers, their low humming filling the air around them with soft, unearthly music. The hostess gestured to a table laid with an intricate dinner service, and they took their seats obediently, accepting the menus offered to them with polite smiles. “I’ll return to take your orders presently,” she explained brightly, looking between the three of them with barely-concealed curiosity. “In the meantime, may I offer champagne?” 

“Yes,” River decided, smiling wickedly at Clara. “A bottle for the table.” 

“River-” the Doctor interjected in a warning tone, but she ignored him. 

“The best you have. Please,” she added, her tone warm, and the hostess nodded, disappearing to retrieve a bottle. “Darling, it’s a celebration.”

“I don’t drink,” he protested feebly. “You know that.”

“Well, you can have one glass. I’m sure your superior metabolism can cope with that, can’t it?” River winked at him, and he scowled.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t you or Clara get off your heads.”

 

* * *

 

Clara had only had two glasses of champagne, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether the delicious feeling of warmth that had settled over her was due to the alcohol, the rich food, or the luxurious atmosphere. She smiled a little tipsily across the table at the Doctor as she pushed her dessert plate away from her, leaning back in her chair and sighing contently. Ideas were insistently making their way to the forefront of her consciousness, demanding her attention, and she tried to push them away before her vocal chords could come to latch on to anything and verbalise it. 

“So…” she began. _Shit,_ she thought internally, scrambling to regain control of her mouth. _Abort, abort, abort._ “I’ve been thinking…”

The Doctor and River looked to her expectantly, and she cleared her throat a little, her brain still desperately trying to stop her mouth from talking but falling short. 

“Time on the TARDIS isn’t like normal time, right? I mean, yeah, I guess I’m technically, legally, twenty-nine, but you know… biologically speaking…” she rambled, pausing for breath and attempting to do the maths. 

“Biologically, you’d be closer to early thirties,” the Doctor interjected in a manner he clearly considered to be helpful. “Ish. I could scan you when we get back.” 

“I don’t want scanning,” she told him firmly, shaking her head and feeling irrationally tearful. “I’m _old,_ I get it.”

“Old?!” River scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “Not compared to him, you’re not.” 

“I’m _old in human terms_ ,” Clara explained through clenched teeth, trying to keep her emotions in check as her mouth continued rambling on without permission. “And soon I’ll be too old to do some things.” 

“What?” the Doctor asked in bewilderment, looking her up and down in apprehension of what she might be about to say. “Your knees aren’t going anywhere, so don’t even think about trying to get out of saving planets, Clara.” 

“I don’t mean that kind of thing,” she snapped, before regaining a modicum of composure. “I mean…” she sighed. “I mean, you know. Making… a… small… human… thing.”

The Doctor blinked at her, baffled by her statement. “I don’t get it.” 

“I just… I’m not getting any younger, Doctor-” 

“Glad to see you’ve mastered the basics of time travel.”

“Shut up. I’m not getting any younger, and soon I’ll be too old to have a baby.” Clara looked at him expectantly, waiting for her words to click into place in his brain. He still looked blank. 

“I think what Clara is saying,” River said slowly, her face twisting into a worried grimace. “Is that she wants to have a baby.” 

“Well, who with?” the Doctor asked, frowning. “You’re not just going off with some random human, I’m not allowing that.” 

“I’m not your possession!” she protested furiously, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing again. “Look, I don’t want to go and shag a random human.” 

“So what did you have in mind?” the Doctor asked, and Clara affixed him with a look of incredulity, not understanding how he could be failing to comprehend the matter at hand. 

“I think what Clara is trying to get at…” River realised suddenly. “Is that she’d like to have a baby _with you_.” 

“But that won’t make a small human,” he said, looking between the two women with perplexity. “That’ll make a small hybrid. Only it won’t, because it’s not happening.”

“No, it’s not,” River concurred, looking at Clara with an expression that conveyed her betrayal that Clara hadn’t discussed this with her. “It really isn’t.” 

“Why?” Clara asked, the alcohol suddenly ceasing to cloud her brain as clarity settled over her and she felt her temper flare. “Why not? It’s what I want-”

“And god forbid, we _always_ have to do what you want…” River muttered under her breath, and Clara scowled at her. 

“It’s what _I_ want, it’s what I’ve _always_ wanted, and then seeing Jack with Charlotte… and realising that it might not even be possible for me any longer… it just sort of set something off…” 

“Yeah, a crazy hormonal bomb,” River jibed. “It’s not happening.” 

Clara ignored her, turning her attention to the Doctor, who was sat mutely staring at his plate, dumbstruck by her words. “Doctor?” 

“I…” he mumbled, closing his eyes to avoid having to see the longing on her face. “I’m not sure.” 

“You’ve had children before,” Clara reminded him. “You’ve told me.” 

He looked at her with a pained expression, the hurt clear on his face. “And they’re all gone,” he noted, his tone carefully neutral. “Dead, or lost. So I’m not exactly what you would call an ideal father.” 

“You’re what _I’d_ call an ideal father. You love us both, you’d love a baby, and you’d be so-” 

“I wouldn’t _be_ anything,” he snapped. “Because it’s not happening, Clara. I’m not losing any more children, so _drop it._ ” 

“But-” 

“ _Now_ ,” he spat, getting up and stalking inside, leaving River and Clara alone together on the balcony, unsure of how to proceed. Clara looked at her plate, a single tear bisecting her cheek as she fought to keep her composure, turning her face away so that River wouldn’t see her moment of weakness. 

“You really want this?” River asked, and Clara nodded silently, unsure how else to respond. “But we’ve barely been married five minutes, Clara…” 

“I know, River,” she said, her tears choking her words and her tone betraying the depth of her emotional investment in the matter. “Don’t you think I goddamn know? It’s been five minutes to him, it’s been a drop in the ocean of his life. Me loving him, that’s all just the blink of an eye to him, but for me it’s been _years_ , it’s been a huge part of my life, and I thought that this one thing… this one thing…” she closed her mouth, shaking her head as she found herself unable to continue, unable to phrase the words she needed so desperately to say. 

River sighed in frustration, caught between the two points of view and unsure how to navigate between them without causing further pain to either party. “Clara, I love you, but you’re a prat sometimes. You really are. You couldn’t have just had a nice day today, could you? Couldn’t have let us enjoy Valentine’s Day? No, you had to go and bring _that_ up, and we all know it’s a sensitive topic with him, after everything that’s happened with his family.” 

“I didn’t mean… I’ll go and…” Clara began, but River cut her off, getting to her feet and giving Clara a contemptuous look.

“No. You’ve done bloody enough today. I’ll go and find him and try to talk him into at least humouring the idea. Hopefully I can calm him down, you just stay there and try not to fuck anything else up.” 

With that, River was gone, leaving Clara alone with the mournful music of the Singing Towers, weeping quietly into her hands as she considered the gravity of what she had done.


	14. Where We're Gonna Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Clara's big question, the trio attempt to deal with the ramifications of her wishes. In an attempt to understand the Doctor's feelings, Clara finds herself in the TARDIS library, where she learns some terrible things. Determined to be selfless, she attempts to let go of her dreams... but will the Doctor let her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters, mainly because it was one of those chapters which just came to me easily and didn't require much editing. I hope you're all enjoying the angst!
> 
> Chapter title from "Knocked Up" by Kings of Leon.

Once Clara was entirely certain she had no tears left to weep, she stood, patted her cheeks dry with a linen napkin, and then retreated to the TARDIS, closing the doors behind her and sinking to the floor of the console room with her head in her hands. The idea – her foolish, ill-thought out idea, she told herself – had been in the back of her mind for some time, but she had never intended to propose it quite so brashly or drunkenly, and certainly not during such a significant occasion. Nor had she anticipated the Doctor’s stark, angry reaction, or River’s quiet judgement of her and her perceived selfishness. Clara was aware of her faults, aware of her predisposition to drama and theatrics over trifling issues, but this was not a trifling issue: this was something she had wanted and longed for since her early twenties; since the loss of her own mother had sparked something within her and she had felt the need to make amends to the universe through the channelling of her own maternal tendencies. It was no flight of fancy, no spontaneous whim – it was something that Clara had subconsciously been considering for many years, and there had seemed no better time or place than situated with the happy marriage that she had, after innumerable years of solitude and insecurity, found herself in. Her vague and non-specific plan – to have children, to care for and love them with all her heart – had developed into the more precise idea of having the _Doctor’s_ child, because surely there could be no better father than the man who would move heaven and earth to protect the ones he loved, and surely there could be no better family unit than one that had three parents. Her desperation and the alcohol had got the better of her, however, tricking her mouth into forming half-conceived notions into words that no amount of apologies or lies could bury, and now she had alienated her partners completely. 

She realised, with a small stab of resignation, that the best she could hope for now was self-preservation: to retreat to her bedchamber with books and cups of tea, in order to pray for a miracle and for wounded egos to soothe – which would be, she bitterly thought to herself, a miracle akin to turning water into wine – until perhaps the issue could be broached once more, in several weeks’ time, when everyone was back in their right minds. Decided, and content with her plan of action, she stood, slipping off her heels and padding through the TARDIS corridors on silent, stockinged feet, wondering idly where her wife and husband had retreated to, but not really caring for the answer. When she reached her bedroom, she unfastened her dress, letting it puddle around her feet on the floor, before pulling on a pair of pyjamas that she was quite certain were solely hers – she ignored, with studious determination, the holey hoodie that was hung on the end of her bed – and locked the bedroom door, running a finger along the bookshelves that lined one wall of her abode and settling for a worn first edition of _Pride and Prejudice._ Curling up in bed, she tried to cast thoughts of children or infants from her mind, opening the book with a feeling of warm familiarity, and taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to become lost in the story, to focus on the intricacies of Regency society, and it was thus that she fell asleep, some hours later, the book clutched to her chest. 

The next morning, she awoke to a quiet knocking on her bedroom door, an insistent tapping that she knew could only be the Doctor. Half-conscious, she was on the verge of inviting him in when she remembered the locked door, the inch of solid wood between them representing far more than an ideological divide. “Go away!” she called, her voice reassuringly unwavering. “Just _go away._ ” 

“Clara…” came River’s voice, and Clara started, looking up at the door and wondering as to the presence of her wife. “Clara, I came to say… never mind.”

Silence fell once more, and Clara’s curiosity itched, burning with a need for knowledge that she knew could only be sated with the certainty of understanding, so she rose to her feet and unlocked the door, finding the corridor empty. Irrationally furious and incomprehensibly distraught, she slammed the door and stomped back to her bed, snatching up her book and reading three pages before her temper settled and her thoughts cleared enough for her to wonder, semi-calmly, what River had wanted, but to deduce that seeking her out to ask her would constitute a surrendering of principles. She would remain here until someone came to find her, she decided. She would let them come to her to talk, because surely they would then comprehend that they were in the wrong, and thus they would see that they had wounded her to the very core if only she removed herself from their proximity. Pleased with her plan, she curled up in bed once more, her book on her lap, determined to stick to her guns with her idea of attrition.

“Clara?” came a soft voice, some hours later, and she jumped, looking up from her book to see the Doctor stood languidly in the doorway, his hands turning over a piece of metal in an agitated fashion, and Clara knew him well enough to know that he was embarrassedly apologetic. “I just… urm… did you want a cup of tea?” 

This was, she supposed, the closest she might get to an apology. Feelings were not something the Doctor could reconcile himself with, and his offering of simple acts of kindness were usually enough to enable her to understand that he was sorry. But this time, somehow, the act seemed contrived and stilted, and it was not enough to soothe Clara’s wounded pride or her growing feeling of uncertainty in the bond of trust between them. 

“No, thank you.” She said bluntly, looking back down to her book and hoping he would leave her be, hoping he would take the hint. 

“Some toast?” he probed, and the worry in his eyes would have softened her heart if only he had been asking the right questions or discussing the right topic. As it was, her resolve only hardened. 

“No, thank you.” 

“Food of some sort? You haven’t eaten today…” 

“No, thank you.” 

“An adventure somewhere? We could go to Space Glasgow.” 

This offer was enough to earn him an incredulous, pitying look. “No, thank you.”

“…a punch in the face?” he offered, his weak attempt at humour falling flat as he reiterated words he had said to her many moons ago in the Arctic to make her smile, but this time she only surveyed him with one eyebrow raised.

“No, thank you.” She reiterated firmly, beginning to get a little bored of the conversation.

“To be left alone?” the Doctor asked, an edge of desperation to his voice, and Clara gaze him a long, impassive look. 

“Yes, please.”

The Doctor nodded tightly, closing her bedroom door and disappearing to – well. Clara tried to tell herself she didn’t care, but she felt herself wondering, dimly, where he would retreat to, to attempt to understand her behaviour. She supposed that understanding him – concurrently to him trying to make sense of her – could be a start, as she realised, guiltily, that he would be blaming himself for the circumstances, and that she should, perhaps, have considered his past when making her request. So she found herself, against her better judgement, pulling on her dressing gown and creeping down the corridors towards the library, pushing open the heavy door and then standing, as she always did, in awe of the volumes of knowledge that surrounded her, looking around in wonder. There was, of course, a section that the Doctor cultivated – although he would always deny it – for her own personal enjoyment: the great Earth writers, poets and dramatists, filling five almighty shelves that were taller and wider than she; but today she walked past the familiar section, in search of something far more complex than the complete works of Virginia Woolf. 

She had once been instructed in the art of locating books in the library, and so she tried to quiet her mind and focus on what she needed. _I need to know the Doctor’s past,_ she thought to herself. _I need to understand him. Help me to understand him._ She waited for a heartbeat and then she found her feet moving, inexplicably, through the library, her brain guided by the telepathic pull of the cataloguing system, and it was deep within the vast chamber, in a section panelled in deep mahogany, that she found tomes and tomes of journals, stacked haphazardly on shelves that hadn’t been touched in years. Her hands were pulled to a pile on the left hand side, and she took the five volumes down reverentially, holding them under her arm as she found herself led to another corner, where there stood a lectern, upon which rested a book that seemed curiously familiar to her. The gold-embossed lettering on the cover professed the book to be _The History of the Time War,_ and as she placed her hand on the corner uncertainly, it opened itself to a page, and she began to read.

 

* * *

 

It was, by Clara’s calculations, approximately three days since she had found the journals that were now stacked neatly underneath her bed. What she had learned of the Time War – what the book had shown her, through charts and sketches and detailed plans – had been enough to inform her of the scale of the Doctor’s loss, of the depth of what he had been through. Reading the journals felt curiously intimate, a betrayal of trust and yet an act of love at the same time, and somehow she couldn’t quite equate the two acts enough to engage in the reading of the leather-bound volumes. 

The Doctor, as predicted, had taken her words literally, and she had scarcely seen him for the past few days as he lurked, she was sure, in his workshop or in rooms of the TARDIS that she would perhaps never see, no doubt attempting to contemplate his human wife and her emotions, with River on hand to advise him whenever he grew doubtful or uncertain. It was this thought – this lazy, half-formed thought, that came to her one morning, of the Doctor with his other wife, the Doctor with _any_ other wife, _any_ other family – that was finally enough to spur her into action, and so she reached for a journal and opened it to the first page, noting with surprise that it was written in English, in a fine, neat print that was unlike the untidy scrawl she was accustomed to. With a sense of trepidation, she began to read. 

The tale that unfolded across the pages of the tomes she had taken was one of untold pain. The Doctor – young, idealistic, faithful to his people and their ideologies – had been a soldier in the War, determined to protect his wife and three small children from the horrors the Daleks sought to inflict across the universe. Clara read, her heart aching with every word, of his eldest son, golden haired and full of life; of his daughter, dark-eyed and serious; and his youngest child, an infant son who was already proving a gifted telepath, filling his mother and father’s heads with visions of a world without war or hatred. The family had been largely untouched by the war, well away from the city, safe in their simple home in the Drylands. But then the peace was shattered: a rogue ship, a malevolent pilot, and the Doctor, watching from afar – too far, far too far to be of any help – as his home burst into flames, and his desperate run across the desert, only to arrive as the structure collapsed upon itself. Tears burned her eyes as she ran her fingers over the water-stained pages, imagining the Doctor’s own tears as he wrote down what had happened, enshrining on paper the events that Gallifreyan society would fail to take note of, but to him were monumental enough to define who he was. Understanding overtook her as she realised all he feared, all he could hardly bring himself to face, and she felt shame burn through her that she had pushed the issue, that she had failed to understand what had caused his refusal to her.

That night, with a journal under her pillow, she dreamt of fire and of death, of loss and of pain. She awoke with a cry in the small hours of the morning, and returned the books to the library with a sense of guilt and shame, determined to move on from her foolish idea as she realised she was willing to give up her own hopes to protect the Doctor from the agony of losing another family.

 _Take me to him,_ she implored the TARDIS silently as she wandered the corridors. _Take me to where he is, so that I can hold him and try to show him that I understand._

Sure enough, a door appeared at the end of the corridor, and stepping through, Clara found herself in the Doctor’s workshop, although it looked far more haphazard than she recalled it being, with piles of metal stacked almost as high as her, and sparks trailing loosely over the ceiling in lazy patterns. 

“Doctor?” she called, and he appeared from what seemed to be – to Clara’s untrained eye – to be a pile of junk, a pair of goggles stuck comically on top of his head, his hair at mad angles. “Hey.”

“Clara,” he said with some trepidation, wiping his hands on his trousers. “I thought you were having… you know. Alone time.” 

“I was,” she affirmed, smiling at him weakly. “But not anymore. I wanted to hang out. You, me, River.” 

“River?” he asked, frowning at Clara’s lack of knowledge. “She left. She thought we needed _alone_ _time_ , she’s off on an archaeological dig in 1922. Some little thing in Egypt.” 

“Oh.” Clara said, processing the fact that it was just the two of them. “Well. Just us then.” 

“What about… I thought you were upset about… human stuff,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably in the silence. “Baby stuff.” 

“I was,” she said, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “But it’s not as important anymore.”

“Why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously in an attempt to ascertain whether this was a trap of some kind and to understand her change of heart.

“I just… I just realised some things,” she reached over and booped him on the nose, forcing herself to smile. “Now. Enough tinkering, where are you taking me?”

 

* * *

 

Clara found herself, as she always did, back in the corner of the library with the journals. The TARDIS had ceased guiding her following her initial discovery fourteen days prior, and so now she simply selected copies at random or occasionally re-read what she already knew, a stern reminder to herself to keep her feelings in check. Today, however, she didn’t feel like reading, so she instead curled up on a green leather loveseat that the TARDIS had placed beside the shelves, ruminating on the reconciliation of her own wishes and the Doctor’s past. 

“You found my journals, then,” came a voice from the shadows, and she jumped as the Doctor stepped into the light, smiling at her with sadness. “I always wondered if you would.” 

Clara felt guilt flood through her as she realised the depth of her betrayal, fighting to find the words she so desperately needed in order to convey her apologies. “The TARDIS… showed me them,” she admitted, looking down at her lap. “I wanted to understand. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Clara,” he promised her, and she looked up at him in surprise. “You should have just asked me.” 

“How could I have asked you?” she asked. “I saw how much it hurt you on Darillium. I couldn’t just bring that up again and cause you more suffering. Now I understand, I just… I couldn’t have asked you, because I couldn’t bring it up for you again…” 

“Bring it up?” the Doctor asked with surprise, raising his eyebrows. “’Bring it up’ would indicate that it’s _not_ something I think about every single day. I can’t ever forget them, Clara. It’s etched onto my memory indelibly. It’s never going to go away.” 

“I understand that,” she whispered, ashamed at her own thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry.” 

“Not as sorry as I am,” he said softly, sitting beside her and taking her hand in both of his. “I don’t think I understood how much it meant to you, having a family.” 

“How can you understand that?” she asked, her tone unintentionally sharp, and she sighed, trying again in a gentler voice. “I haven’t… I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t need to, Clara. Seeing your reaction on Darillium, then you telling me to leave you be... I know that isn’t a good sign. And then you wandered, and I knew that you’d been here, of course. Nothing happens in the TARDIS that I don’t know about, so of course I knew you’d read my journals. I expected you to come and try to persuade me, after that, to try and talk about things, but you didn’t. Why didn’t you?” 

“Because I understood why you were reticent,” Clara looked down, closing her eyes to try and hold back the tears that welled there. “And I realised I can’t put you through that pain. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“But you want this,” the Doctor said quietly. “You want it so much, Clara, it’s tangible: it soaked into the journals, how much you want this.” 

“That’s…” 

“Sorry. You know I try not to… invade, but it permeated the covers: you left longing on those books, as plain to me as the nose on your face.” 

“Creep,” Clara teased, to stop herself from crying. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want it anymore.” 

“The thing about touch telepathy, Clara,” the Doctor looked at their intertwined hands. “Is I can tell when you’re lying,” he paused. “I mean, I could anyway. But this helps quite a bit.”

“That’s cheating,” she mumbled, turning her face away as tears began to roll down her cheeks, trying to hide her feelings from him, to put aside her own needs in favour of his. “Doctor, it’s fine. Honestly.” 

“Clara Oswald,” he said softly, handing her a neatly folded handkerchief and watching with concern as she wiped her eyes and then turned to face him. “You want this, don’t you? Don’t lie.” 

“Yes,” she intimated, the confession surprising her. “Always have done.” 

“Well then,” he said with more bravery than he felt, nodding decisively. “We shall do it.”

“We… what?”

“Clara, it’s been hundreds of years for me. I don’t forget, no, but I understand that time has moved forwards, and so must I.” 

“So you’re…” 

“Saying yes, that would be the gist of this. To having a small child. With you.” 

Clara flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, too overcome to speak, and he wrapped his arms around her reciprocally, pressing his lips to her hair as she tried to convey her gratitude to him through the medium of telepathy. 

“You don’t have to shout, you know,” he murmured into her hair. “Mentally. As long as I’m touching you, I can hear you. Just usually I try not to intrude. Unless your mind is leaking, like now.” 

“So’s yours. What aren’t you showing me?” Clara probed inquisitively, and then she gasped as something burst into her mind’s eye, the colours and sensations vivid and crystal-clear. _Her, the Doctor and River, watching a dark-haired, dark-eyed child run through the console room. Bursts of laughter and a sense of love blossoming through her chest as the youngster ran one hand along the console, turning to beam at the three of them with a smile that was purely her own._  

“It happened last night,” the Doctor said with a small shrug. “I don’t dream-” 

“You don’t dream?!” Clara interjected incredulously, and he shushed her by placing a finger to her lips.

“I don’t dream _often,_ so it was obviously… it was obviously important. My subconscious decided it for me.” 

“Well, tell your subconscious thanks from me,” Clara kissed him gratefully, resting her forehead against his. “Can I now be totally, totally irritating, and ask a multitude of questions?” 

“You’re going to, regardless of my answer,” the Doctor guessed. “So yes.” 

“How do we… you know. Conceive?” Clara blushed furiously, trying to remind herself that this was her _husband_ , and that she didn’t need to be embarrassed. “You don’t like sex.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to give it a go,” he conceded, grimacing only slightly at the prospect. “It can’t be that bad. I don’t mind it if it’s functional.” 

“I’ll make it enjoyable,” Clara promised with a small smirk, and it was the Doctor’s turn to blush. “Sorry not sorry. What happens then?”

“The TARDIS can scan you constantly, none of this human nonsense of urinating on sticks. We’ll know right away, and then we’ll monitor you closely throughout.” 

“How long _for_?” Clara asked, chewing her lip. “I mean, how long’s a Gallifreyan pregnancy?” 

The Doctor muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _a year._  

“Sorry?” she asked, her eyes flashing dangerously at him. 

“A year,” he repeated more loudly, still avoiding her gaze. “But I don’t know, that’s between two _Gallifreyans._ So for you it might be closer to forty-six weeks.” 

“Well,” Clara said brightly, feeling a touch more reassured. “That’s… manageable. I can cope with that. Can you?” 

“I should think so,” he grinned. “If not I can retreat to my workshop for a few months until your mood improves.” 

“Thanks, idiot,” Clara smacked his arm, then poked her tongue out. “What about doctors? I mean, I trust you, but I don’t think you’re an expert in this, and oh god, won’t the baby have two hearts? I can’t just go to a normal doctor…” 

“It’s probable, yes,” the Doctor confirmed. “Two hearts and most likely an advanced respiratory system like mine. I know someone we can see. An old friend, she’s up in Cardiff now, but she’s familiar with my physiology, so you’ll be in safe hands.” 

Clara nodded, relieved. “So, we’re really doing this.” 

“We’re really doing this,” he reiterated with a confidence he barely felt. “There’s just one slight obstacle to overcome first.” 

“The having sex part?” 

“The telling River part.”


	15. One Heart, Soon Became Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their decision to become parents, there is only one obstacle left for the Doctor and Clara to overcome... or potentially two, if you consider River Song. Uncertain how to break the news, an awkward conversation ensues between the three of them - one that quickly descends into a _very_ irreverent discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seems really short compared to the preceding and succeeding chapters, but anyway. Lots of fluffy smut for you all to enjoy. ;) 
> 
> Chapter title from "Three Hearts" by Alex Clare.

When the TARDIS materialised in the scorching heat of the Egyptian desert, River was less than enthusiastic about the forced return to domesticity. Marching inside, coated in sand and sweat from head to toe, she scowled blackly at the Doctor, throwing down her canvas bag and swearing almightily as she began to shake sand from her clothing onto the floor of the time machine. 

“Come on _,_ you _always_ do this! It’s not bloody fair, I don’t gate-crash your heroics!” she snarled, glowering as she spoke. “I was making progress; we’d nearly broken through to the tomb, and now Carter is going to get all the credit for _my work._ Which, actually, now I think about it, is basically what you’ve done at every opportunity throughout history.” 

“You know that’s not true, River. But Carter always _had_ to get the credit. He also died some time later, so maybe be grateful I saved you from the ridiculous curse,” the Doctor explained patiently. “Consider this an intervention in time and space. Preventing anachronisms. Carter discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb – there was no mention of you. I’m lending a helping hand.” 

“Preventing me doing my bloody job, more like. Do you know how long I studied to get where I am? Years. Barely a flash in the pan for you, but it was important to me, old man… maybe I should dig _you_ up and present you to a museum,” she grumbled, half to him, half to herself, as she kicked off her shoes and then noticed, for the first time, Clara’s presence in the room. “She’s stopped sulking, then?”

“I have, yes,” Clara said coolly, surveying her wife with a measured expression that she hoped concealed her nerves. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m sure somewhere under all the sand and sweat, you’re a lovely golden brown colour.” 

“We could take a shower and you could find out…” River offered with a wink, her flirtatiousness overtaking her irritation as she began to unbutton the filthy cotton shirt that she was wearing. “How does that sound?” 

“Rather ideal,” Clara admitted, before sighing and looking to the Doctor for support. “Only the thing is, the Doctor and I have news. Big news. Monumental news.” 

“I’m not moving out,” River said at once, holding up both hands defensively. “I live here, it’s my home, I’m not moving out. We said this was an equal thing.” 

“This _is_ an equal thing. We’re not asking you to move out,” the Doctor assured her with a tight smile. “Definitely not. It’s, ah… well, I’ll let Clara tell you.” 

Clara scowled almightily at him, before retreating a little way and standing on the upper levels of the ship for self-preservation’s sake. “The news is…. We’ve decided to go for it.” 

“Go for what?” River asked carefully, looking between the two of them and feeling her stomach clench in apprehension of the news. “Go for coffee? Go for ice cream?” 

“Go for the whole… you know,” Clara paused, taking a deep breath before saying the words aloud for the first time. “Having a baby thing.” 

“Oh,” River said with spirited disinterest, her shoulders slumping as she turned away to rummage through her bag. “You won him over then?” 

“No,” the Doctor interjected with irritation. “Don’t talk about it like that. Don’t make it sound like… she didn’t manipulate me. She didn’t do anything, River, except make an effort to understand things.” 

“So, everything I’ve always done for you, then?” River asked cattily, turning back to them both and scowling. “Big wow. Woman is nice to man; man capitulates to her every whim. All of human history in a nutshell; that’s what you two are.” 

“River…” the Doctor chided, the hurt in his eyes palpable enough to stop her words. “We know it’s a big change…” 

“Big change? You want to have a baby, and I’ll be… I’ll be what? The third wheel? The third parent? There’s not exactly a handbook for these things, so should I just leave now?” River could feel herself becoming hysterical, and somehow she found herself letting her emotions take over. “We can’t explain to the baby that it’s got two mums _and_ a dad, I mean… I don’t fit into the cosy little world view, we can’t… it’s not going to be explicable, so what do we do?” 

“River,” Clara said calmly, her tone determined and soothing. “You don’t think that a slightly larger problem is going to be explaining to the baby that it’s half alien?” She looked between River and the Doctor. “Or that its dad is an angry Scottish stick insect?”

River, despite her agitation, laughed a little. “But-” 

“No buts,” Clara said firmly. “You are a valued member of this family. He’s dad, I’m mummy, you’re mum. Assuming this whole thing works. Assuming that all the artron energy hasn’t irradiated my uterus completely, and that he hasn’t got mutant sperm.” 

“I have not got mutant sperm!” the Doctor complained. “And your uterus is fine, I checked.”

“When did you check?!” Clara spluttered, turning to face him as River bit back a laugh. “And how do _you_ know you haven’t got mutant sperm? What’s normal to you might be weird to me!”

“Well, you might have been asleep…” he mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red as he avoided meeting her gaze. “And as for-” 

“As for the sperm, I can testify it’s not mutant-y. Although that was prior to this face, so it might be wearing little kilts now.” River winked, and Clara had to fight to keep a straight face. 

“Did you probe me when I was asleep?” she asked the Doctor, glaring at him as she spoke, and he backed away half a step. “Oh, my god, you actually did. I know you are an _actual alien,_ but do try to refrain from the stereotypes.” 

“I did not _probe you,_ ” the Doctor protested. “I _scanned_ you. There’s a difference.” 

“I was _asleep_ ,” Clara reiterated emphatically. “Very deeply asleep.” 

“You were napping, during the five minutes it took to get here!” the Doctor corrected, and Clara threw up her hands in frustration. 

“It was non-consensual scanning, don’t do it again!” she instructed with finality. “I mean, scanning me once we’ve… you know, done it… fine. But just ask me _first_. Got it?” 

“Got it,” the Doctor muttered, before turning a deep shade of maroon. “We need to, urm…” 

“Oh my god, are you actually going to have sex with her?” River asked, and Clara frowned at her wife.  

“You make that sound like it’s an ordeal,” she accused, the hurt clear in her voice. “I didn’t think you hated it _that_ much.” 

“Oh, darling, I really don’t,” River smirked, leaning back and surveying them both with a mischievous look. “I don’t feel sorry for him; I feel sorry for you.” 

“Hey!” the Doctor scowled. “I’ve been around for two thousand years! I know my way around a woman!” 

“I can’t decide if that’s gross, or really arousing,” Clara mused aloud, making a face as she spoke. “Why does this involve you feeling sorry for me?”

River looked at her with pity. “Because, darling, he’s not just a _man._ He’s a man _and then some._ ” 

“Well of course I’m not just a man,” the Doctor scoffed, entirely missing the point of the conversation. “I’m a Time Lord.”

“Doctor?” Clara asked, closing her eyes and stifling a laugh with some difficulty. “She’s talking about your…” she dithered over her choice of word. “…manhood.”

“Oh.” The Doctor said weakly, looking very much like he would rather be anywhere else in time and space. “What specifically about it?” 

“Its size,” Clara said kindly, trying to keep the laughter from her voice. “In a nice way.” 

“Oh,” the Doctor said again, rather more faintly. “But she hasn’t seen this one yet.” 

“ _Yet_ ,” River emphasised with a grin, raising her eyebrows at him in a silent challenge. “That’ll come soon. And it won’t be the only thing coming.” 

The final remark was too much for Clara, who finally lost all vestiges of composure and dissolved into giggles with River, the two of them collapsing onto the steps together, their faces turning red as their shoulders shook with uncontrollable mirth. 

“What?” the Doctor asked with bafflement, and increasing irritation. “Come on, it’s not that funny!” 

“It’s…” Clara gulped, trying to regain control of herself and falling somewhat short. “Sorry, we’re not laughing at you, darling.”

“Clara, if this is your reaction to the _mention_ of my…” the Doctor couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. “Oh for Rassilon’s sake. My _manhood,_ ” he shuddered at the word. “Then maybe we shouldn’t – _this is serious, stop laughing._ ”

“Say that again,” River said through her laughter, wiping tears from her eyes as she surveyed him with a wicked grin. “Please for my sake, just say that again.” 

“Say what again?” he snapped impatiently. 

“The m-word.” 

“Manhood,” he said in his Scottish lilt, and Clara and River burst back into gales of laughter. “This isn’t funny!” he protested, but their humour was infectious, and he fought to keep a straight face. “It’s not!” 

“Shut up,” Clara said, reaching up and pulling him down to sit beside her, burrowing her head into his chest as her laughter abated slowly and she felt her composure return. “It’s not… we aren’t laughing at you, you’re just very much… look, please just don’t say the m-word again.” 

“Clara, you are aware that we have to sleep together, aren’t you?” he asked her in utmost seriousness, and she nodded earnestly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Very much aware. Just let me have a good few glasses of wine first,” she implored him. “Otherwise I’ll talk all through it. Speaking of which, don’t _you_ talk all through it either.”

“But what about… directions?” he asked, and Clara rolled her eyes at his coyness. 

“Doctor. I am twenty-nine years old. I am not a lost rambler. I do not need directions. Particularly not sexual directions.” Clara informed him politely, and he looked to his feet in embarrassment. “What? Is this you saying _you_ want wine as well?” 

“Wine?” he asked bashfully, stumbling over his words. “No, it’s probably best not to… look, I’m not entirely sure the apparatus all works.”

“You don’t have to perform perfectly,” Clara reassured him, squeezing his hand gently as she smiled up at him. “You just have to perform.”

 

* * *

 

The first time it happens, Clara has had two glasses of wine, and the Doctor has had what Clara insisted was a _medicinal_ whiskey. It’s over before it’s really begun, but Clara holds him and kisses his embarrassment-tinged cheeks in the aftermath, steadfastly optimistic and unerringly kind. She murmurs softly to him and refuses to let him feel ashamed, reassuring him with gentle words and soft kisses, allowing him to fall asleep in her arms. She lies to River, when she asks after the event, to save his wounded pride.

The second time it happens, Clara’s only had one glass of wine, to take the edge of her nerves, and he’s as sober as a judge. It’s better this time, but still filled with hurried kisses and awkwardly tangled limbs and the sharp edges of him against her soft curves – elbows in stomachs and knees against thighs – but it’s easy, and the laughter is gentle and mutual in between the mumbled apologies and breathless moans. There is no lying to River this time, just a gentle affirmation of positivity between the three lovers when they next meet, and a small smile of sisterhood between the two women. 

The third time it happens, they are both sober, and both more practiced in their explorations of each other, with his hand skimming the curve of her hip as they are joined, her breath catching in her throat as he kisses her silent, kisses her until she moans, and they both come undone in each other’s arms in near-perfect unison, before laying in a tangle of sheets and exchanging languid kisses the way some lovers share post-coital cigarettes. It’s not passionate, it’s not spectacular, but it’s perfect for them, and somehow that’s all that matters to them both as they embrace in the darkness. 

The fourth, fifth and sixth times it happens are slower and gentler than the first three; languorous sessions as the two of them lay twisted together under satin covers, their bodies falling into a perfect rhythm as they move and moan in synchronicity, his mouth spilling forth tender epithets in a strange language Clara realises dimly is his own. He’s becoming more tender, in a way that would surely surprise those who knew him for his gruff, blunt persona, his hands cupping Clara’s face as he whispers her name like a promise to be kept, and afterwards he holds her as though she is made of glass, unwilling to let her go. 

The seventh time it happens, he presses his lips to her stomach gently afterwards and tentatively transgresses the barriers into her mind, trying to show her how reverentially he holds these exalted meetings, but somehow all he can show her are his memories of his hands tracing across her alabaster skin, and she meets his eyes and sees her beauty through his gaze for the first time. Her painted lips leave prints across his chest as she shows him the intensity of her affections, and he cries as he realises the depth of her love for the body he had once self-critically dismissed as unworthy of her. 

 _It_ happens the twelfth time, and they smile about that later, but all they know in the aftermath is a warm green light that casts a ghostly pallor over the two lovers. The quiet realisation, the slow comprehension of success overwhelms them, as Clara looks up at him and asks the simple question, and he nods in response, half-triumphant, half-shocked, until her face breaks into a smile and he slides his hands down to rest lightly on her stomach in a protective gesture as old as time itself. “You’re pregnant,” he whispers to her softly, positively, as River bursts into the room with a questioning expression, and Clara looks up to the older woman with a tiny, nervous smile. 

“I’m pregnant…” she reiterates reverently, wonder filling her tone, and River smiles at them both with pride.

“Well then,” she says confidently, leaning down and kissing each of them on the cheek. “To the next big adventure…”


	16. Heart Skips A Beat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara was not entirely sure what she expected from pregnancy, but it definitely wasn't _this_. Somewhere in between the morning sickness, the backache and the cravings, the Doctor suggests a trip to Cardiff to see some old friends, and get her and the baby checked over by an expert. While there, they get to meet someone very special indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go... cute family fluff. Featuring a surprise appearance from an old friend...!
> 
> Warnings for vomiting and medical-y stuff.
> 
> Chapter title from "Heart Skips A Beat" by Olly Murs.

Had anyone asked, Clara would have assured them that she was approximately 95% sure she was dying. She hunched over the toilet bowl for what felt like the thousandth morning in a row, groaning, as River stroked her back reassuringly, twisting her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and murmuring quiet platitudes to her. “You’re OK,” River said pragmatically, adopting a matronly tone. “It’s alright. It’ll be over soon.” 

“No it _won’t_ ,” Clara argued feebly, throwing up violently and shuddering in the chill interior of the bathroom. “It’s been _twelve weeks._ Twelve weeks of this shit. I hate being pregnant.” 

“Well, the first trimester ends at week thirteen!” River said brightly, reaching for a cool flannel and dabbing Clara’s forehead in an attempt to alleviate the younger woman’s mood. “That’s what the book said.”

“The book is-” Clara heaved again, praying for some kind of miracle to occur and her stomach to settle. “Wrong, that’s what the Doctor said.” 

“Well, the Doctor would say that,” River said, rolling her eyes in exasperation at their husband. “He’d argue with a brick wall. He _has_ argued with a brick wall. So of course he’d argue with a parenting book.” 

“He said my trimesters would be longer, because of the whole alien thing, but…” Clara continued, before retching drily and wiping tears from her eyes angrily. “Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck this _whole idea._ ” 

“I think it’s a bit late for that, darling,” River murmured. “But you can last another few weeks, I promise.” 

“Fuck another few weeks,” Clara muttered, slumping back against the bathroom wall, holding her head and trying to make the room stop spinning. “Fuck _him._ ” 

“This was _your_ idea,” River reminded her pointedly. “He was just sort of… complicit.” 

“Well, fuck myself,” Clara said, in a weak stab at humour, before groaning again, leaning forward and throwing up once more. “I really, really hope that’s the worst of it over… why god _why_ did I try eating bacon?”

There was a soft, apologetic knock on the bathroom door. “Have you finished cursing my existence yet?” the Doctor asked nervously, his voice muffled by the wood. “Or can I come in?” 

“We haven’t,” Clara said, with an attempt a jovial tone. “But you can come in anyway.” She looked up as the door swung open, smiling at the Doctor in what she hoped was a vaguely reassuring way. “Hi.” 

“Hi,’ he said softly, crouching to her level and holding out a reconciliatory glass of water. “Here. You’ll be dehydrated.”

Clara took the drink and sipped gratefully, sitting back against the wall and closing her eyes as she did so. “Doctor, this is, if you’ll pardon my French, _shit_.” She fought back tears as she continued: “I can’t keep anything down-” 

“I know,” he interjected, looking at her with concern as he reached out to brush a tear from her cheek. “I know, that’s why I’m taking you to see a doctor.” 

“You see her every day, you don’t count,” River teased, her tone falling flat, and he glared at her failure to take the matter seriously. “What? Just saying.” 

“Not _me,_ ” he looked to Clara with worry etched on his face, appraising the situation, and then scooted closer to her, slipping his arm around her waist apprehensively, ready to move if she needed to be sick again. Or hit him. Either was a possibility, especially as of late. “A professional doctor, on Earth.” 

“Not an NHS professional,” Clara warned him, concern evident in her voice, as she rested her head against his shoulder and relaxed a little in his arms. “I don’t wanna be locked up and tested on. No one is touching me or the baby.” 

“Martha will take good care of you,” the Doctor assured her kindly, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “She’s an… old friend, she works with Torchwood up in Cardiff, patches up the team, but she did an obstetric rotation, so she’s qualified.” 

River stiffened at his words, staring at him with a worried expression. “Torchwood?” she reiterated, and the Doctor affixed her with a warning look. 

“Yes, Torchwood. Yes, that involves Jack. Do be nice, and try not to slap anyone this time,” he scowled. “And don’t say anything racist about the Welsh.”

“You say loads of racist things about the Welsh!” Clara pointed out, and he rolled his eyes at her in a manner that indicated his behaviour should be self-explanatory. 

“Yes, but I’m Scottish. We hate them on principle.” 

“And that principle would be?” 

“They’re a part of good old Great Britain, but the English don’t hate them. They’re quite fond of the Welsh, they think of them as pets. Unlike us Scots. The Scots… ach, you English hate us Scots.” 

“Doctor, you’re not Scottish,” River pointed out patiently. “You’re Gallifreyan.” 

“Well, you’re half-Gallifreyan, but you’re _technically_ English, and I bet _you_ hate the Scots.” The Doctor pouted at River, who only laughed at his sense of misplaced patriotism. 

“Well, not all of them. There’s this one bloke…” she mused, then grinned at him lovingly. “I don’t hate the Scots. Don’t be bloody miserable.” 

“I like being miserable, I’m Scottish, it’s what I _do_ ,” the Doctor protested, and Clara groaned at the two of them. 

“Look, sorry to break up the bickering, but, hello, pregnant woman has finished vomiting. Can we please go and see this Martha woman? That would be ideal.” 

The Doctor, inexplicably, turned a violent shade of maroon. 

“What?” Clara asked, almost shouting in her frustration, and she took a deep breath to try and control her temper, before trying again more gently. “Sorry. What is it?” 

“I just urm…” he hesitated, before continuing, very rapidly, in an oddly gruff voice: “I thought we could urm. Maybe go shopping. Afterwards. For you know. Baby… stuff. If you feel up to it. I mean, if you don’t, that’s… fine. But if you did…” 

“Full of surprises, you are,” she interrupted his ramblings, offering a small chagrined smile. “Baby shopping would be nice.” 

“Well then,” he affirmed, reciprocating her gesture before standing and offering his arm to her and River. “Cardiff.”

 

* * *

 

Clara had to admit that if nothing else, the bracing sea air in Cardiff was making her feel slightly less nauseous. She was sat by the Bay with River, both of them watching with bemusement as the Doctor strode around Roald Dahl Plass with the sonic screwdriver, occasionally stopping to scan innocuous-looking slabs of concrete and mutter under his breath about security protocols. 

“Why didn’t he just fly us straight in?” she asked River, nuzzling her head into the other woman’s shoulder as they watched him jump up and down on one slab in a slightly deranged fashion. 

“I’m assuming that they’ll have installed defensive software _and_ hardware to prevent the entry of non-regulated time- and spacecraft into their architecturally vulnerable locality,” River said confidently, before catching sight of Clara’s expression and laughing. “I’m kidding. I mean, they might, but I think it’s more probable that he’s just crap at navigation.”  

“That would account for a lot, yep…” Clara murmured, grinning fondly at him. “Do you think we should tell him that Jack’s stood over there?” 

“Nah, I reckon we give him five more minutes,” River looked down at her wife and gave her a mischievous wink. “And then we tell him. Unless he starts scaring the locals.” 

“When does he _not_ scare the locals?”

“Good point, well made,” River acknowledged with a nod. “In which case…” she stood, helping Clara up, and sauntered across the concrete to where the Doctor was scowling angrily at the floor.

“You do know,” Clara said with amusement. “That Jack is stood over there, watching you make an idiot of yourself?” 

“Yes,” the Doctor lied defensively, as Clara raised an eyebrow and beckoned the American over. “I was just checking the security.” 

“Sure you were, old man,” Jack said with a chuckle. “Checking the security? Well, we had to make some upgrades after Miracle Day. Sorry about that, couldn’t have any unwanted guests.”

“Got it,” the Doctor acknowledged with some embarrassment, extending a hand that Jack opted to ignore in favour of a bone-crushing hug. “Good to see you again.” 

“And you!” the former Time Agent enthused, pulling away and winking at Clara and River. “You brought the wives I see. Is this a social call, or do you need to add another wife to the package deal?” 

“We’re here for medical reasons, actually,” the Doctor informed him. “Important ones.” 

“Cosmetic or…”

“Obstetric.” Clara interrupted with a small smile, one hand coming to rest on her stomach subconsciously as she said the unfamiliar words to someone outside of the TARDIS for the first time. “If that’s OK.” 

“OK?!” Jack asked, beaming as he hugged Clara carefully. “Of course that’s OK… that’s… congrats, a little baby Time Lord or Lady, well… that’s great news!” 

“Don’t squeeze her too tight,” the Doctor chastised, with a twinkle in his eye. “She might pop.” 

“He does this,” Clara said fondly, as Jack let her go obediently and swept River into a hug instead. “You just ignore him, he’s an overprotective prat.” 

“You’re pregnant!” the Doctor reminded her, and she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Pregnant. Not made of glass.” She glared at him half-heartedly, too touched to be properly angry. “But it is rather endearing. The overprotective pratting. In between being _really_ annoying.” 

“So you’ll be wanting in to the Hub, I’m guessing?” Jack asked, to head off any further bickering. “And to see Doctor Jones?” 

“Jones?” Clara raised an eyebrow in the Doctor’s direction. “What are you, the anonymous fake name squad?” 

“It’s not my fault my companions have ubiquitous names,” he grumbled under his breath. “Oswald and Song aside, of course.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she smacked his arm playfully. “So, genius, how do we get in?”

“There used to be a sort of lift… thing,” the Doctor gesticulated vaguely. “In this sort of… general area.” 

“’Used to be’ being the operative phrase, old man. All about teleportation these days.” Jack grinned at the Time Lord with a sense of smugness, before realising abruptly that he might have put his foot in something and attempting to backtrack with his words. 

“Teleportation? Where the hell did you get a teleportation matrix from?” the Doctor narrowed his eyes at Jack suspiciously. “You didn’t steal it, did you?” 

“It was a gift, cool it, Doctor,” Jack held up his hands in a placating gesture. “From your friends over at UNIT. Biometrically operated.” 

“If it’s biometrically operated, how are we going to get in?” the Doctor asked, taking half a step closer to Clara and putting his arm around her waist protectively. “I don’t want anything to happen to the baby.” 

“Thanks,” she observed, rolling her eyes and patting his hand. “I’m here too, you know. And your other wife.” 

“Or Clara,” he tacked on with embarrassment. “Or River.” 

“Relax, Doctor,” Jack smiled, and held out three circular plastic disks, each threaded onto what looked, for all intents and purposes, like a piece of string. “Guest passes. Each contains some of my DNA. It’ll fool the scanner.” 

“Seems a bit…” Clara groped for the right phrase. “Low-tech.” 

“Low tech but _effective,_ ” Jack enthused, conducting them grandiosely to a paving slab while avoiding meeting the Doctor’s gaze. “Right…” 

“Have you used these before?” the Doctor asked distrustfully, but before Jack could respond they had been swept into a beam of blue light, and the next thing Clara knew she was in what appeared to be a concrete bunker. 

“That _actually worked_!” Jack whooped, and the Doctor scowled in his general direction, muttering something under his breath that sounded distinctly impolite. “I can’t believe that actually worked!”

“Nice to know you’d use my wives as guinea pigs,” the Doctor said sardonically, and Clara threw him a reproachful look. “…sorry, sore spot. Duty of care. But my point stands.” 

“Don’t ruin the moment,” she said brightly in her best teacher voice. “Now. Where’s the famous Doctor Jones?” 

“Well, that would be me.” Clara turned and saw a dark-haired woman in a lab coat striding across the room to them, a welcoming smile on her face. “You’re Clara Oswald. This is quite the honour.” 

“How do you-”

“UNIT security clearance… I’m a big admirer,” Martha admitted without a hint of shame and extended her hand, which Clara shook shyly. “Nice to meet you. And you must be Professor River Song.” 

“That’s me,” River affixed Martha with her warmest smile. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you from the old man. All that work with the Master? Certainly impressive, not to mention devoted.” 

“It really wasn’t,” Martha shrugged slightly, modesty radiating from her. “Just doing what I had to do. Now. Doctor, I _can_ see you hiding behind Jack, so come out and let me have a good look at you and the new look.” 

Slightly bashfully, the Doctor followed her instructions, stepping into the light and quailing slightly under her measured gaze. “It’s been a long time…” he murmured with a touch of remorse, as Martha looked him up and down with a practiced eye.

“It has,” she concurred, before smiling brightly and embracing him. “You look very… distinguished. It suits you” 

“Well, you haven’t changed a bit,” the Doctor said fondly, and Martha made a face. “What?! You haven’t!” 

“Well, I think that’s a good thing,” she decided after a moment, looking between the three time travellers with an unreadable expression. “So, Jack’s filled me in on the wife situation. Steady, boy… you getting married _once_ was big. This… _huge._ ” 

“Boy?” Clara raised one eyebrow, clearly impressed by Martha’s daring. “Wow.” 

“I’m… urm…” the Doctor stammered, ignoring Clara’s remark. “Well… there’s… urm, been a development. Of the sort of... Baby kind.” 

“Baby?” Martha asked incredulously, unable to hide her shock. “You’re having a baby?” 

“It’s not that hard to believe!” he complained irascibly, looking down at her with irritation. “I mean…”

“What did you do, knock her out with your sonic?” Martha teased, and Clara laughed. 

“I volunteered,” she admitted, taking the Doctor’s hand and squeezing gently. “It’s… kind of been a goal.” 

“Well,” Martha raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Things seem to have got interesting since I left you, Doctor.” 

“That’s one way of putting it…” he muttered, before changing the subject clumsily. “Can you just scan her please? I’m worried about her.” 

“Like you haven’t scanned her already,” Martha retorted, reaching across a desk for a large bottle of water and passing it to Clara. “Yes, I can. But Clara, you’re gonna have to drink that down first.” 

“All of it?” Clara asked, appraising the bottle mild horror. “But that’s…” 

“Two litres, yep. All of it. Down. No arguing, that’s a good girl.” 

“Yes’m,” Clara mumbled with surprising submissiveness, unscrewing the lid and taking small, determined sips. “Why, though?” 

“Helps with the scan. I promise you can pee after. Now. Less talk, more drink.” 

“You know, she’s usually much more… argue-y,” River intimated, as Clara gulped down mouthfuls of water as rapidly as possible. “So her obeying you is really a small miracle.” 

“Why…” Clara said, pausing for breath in between sips. “Do you even _have_ an ultrasound machine?” 

“Borrowed it a while back,” Martha said, as though the matter was obvious. “When I had my little boy.” 

“ _Borrowed_?” the Doctor asked, before his brain focused on the essential information. “Little boy?” 

“Yeah, that happened,” Martha beamed at the Doctor with pride. “James. He’s with Mickey today, they’re a right pair.” 

“Well, congrats,” the Time Lord enthused, grinning giddily at the news. “To you and to Mickey the Idiot.” 

“Doctor!” Clara chastised, setting down the empty bottle and groaning slightly. “Can we please just get on with this? Because I feel abruptly like I swallowed the Atlantic.” 

“Sure,” Martha said understandingly, leading Clara into a medical bay and pulling her kit out of a bag, setting up a screen on a side table and laying out an array of instruments beside it. “Lie down, I won’t be a minute.” 

The Doctor and River hovered in the doorway as Clara lay down, and she rolled her eyes, holding her hand out to them both expectantly. “Come here, idiots. Stop hovering, this is your baby too, so come and be involved.” 

“Sorry,” the Time Lord apologised immediately, crossing the room and sitting beside her, taking her hand in his and kissing it as River sat beside him and placed her elbows on the edge of the bed. “Bit nervous.” 

“ _You’re_ nervous?” Clara asked with a nervous smile. “C’mon, I’m the pregnant one here, I should be nervous.” 

“How’s the pregnancy going, anyway?” Martha interrupted, switching into medical mode. “Nothing too weird?”

“Uh… I’ve had really bad morning sickness,” Clara said casually, trying not to make the situation into a big deal. “But-”

“Clara, don’t try and brush this aside,” the Doctor said sternly. “She can’t really keep food down in the mornings. Of any variety. Including toast, we tried.” 

“Just the mornings?” 

“ _Just_ the mornings,” Clara assured her. “They’re both keeping me hydrated though, so that’s not a worry. Water, water, everywhere.” 

“Any weight loss?” Martha probed with concern, rolling up Clara’s shirt and taking in her slightly rounded stomach with a smile. “I see you’ve got a teeny, tiny bump going on…” 

Clara relaxed a little. “It’s cute, right?” she enthused, placing one hand on it tenderly, stroking the skin with a fingertip and wondering at the marvel of her own body. “I don’t think I’ve lost any weight, not that I’ve noticed…” 

“She hasn’t,” the Doctor cut in, placing his hand over Clara’s gently. “I’m monitoring her very closely.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Martha assured him, moving both of their hands aside and applying a small dab of gel to Clara’s abdomen, before taking out a probe and beginning to massage Clara’s stomach with it experimentally, rolling it back and forth. “OK, I don’t really know what I’m looking for, Doctor. There won’t be two heads, or anything?” 

“Definitely not,” he said with a low chuckle. “Almost certainly two hearts. Might be a little smaller than a normal foetus. I’m not really sure, there’s not really a precedent for… well, this kind of thing.” 

Clara leant her head back and closed her eyes, praying silently that everything would be alright with their baby. “Tell us about your son,” she murmured, trying to distract herself from how fast her heart was pounding and the anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm her. “How old is he?”

“He’s two,” Martha said proudly, moving the probe laterally across Clara’s small bump. “He loves cars and trucks, so he’s with his dad today at an event. We got married last year, he was the page boy. He looked so dapper, in his little blue suit.” 

“Blue?” the Doctor asked, and Clara could tell he was smiling from his tone. “Can’t imagine where you got that idea…”

“Hush, you,” Martha said sternly, before exclaiming in triumph, Clara’s eyes snapping open in a panic. “There we go!” 

Clara, River and the Doctor focused on the screen as Martha moved the device carefully, and then there, clear as day, was the tiny profile of a face and a hand, raised as if the foetus was greeting its parents.

“Oh,” Clara said breathlessly, her eyes filling with relieved tears. “ _Oh._ ” 

The Doctor squeezed her hand tightly, and River dipped a kiss to Clara’s forehead, both of them too overcome to speak, but she understood their quiet, jubilant relief. 

“Saying hello,” Martha said with a smile, taking a few measurements. “Now, let’s have a listen, shall we? Work out the heart count…” 

She flipped a switch and a dual heartbeat thrummed over the speakers, rhythmic and strong and as fast as a tiny train. 

“So,” the Doctor said gruffly, regaining the power of speech and dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “They’re… like me, then.” 

“Yep. One foetus, two heartbeats. Nice one, alien boy.” Martha chuckled. “Definitely slightly smaller than a human foetus would be, but not by much at this stage. Guessing the development will catch up later on.” 

“So everything’s OK?” Clara double-checked, drinking in the sight of the tiny, newly-formed human inside her with wonder and feeling a surge of love for them. “I’ll feel them move soon, right?” 

“Yep,” Martha assured her. “Everything is fine; I should think you’ll feel them moving in the next couple of weeks. You can stop stressing quite so much now you know what’s going on in there.” 

“I’m not stressing!” Clara fibbed. “ _He_ is. _River_ is. I’m not. Much.” 

“Liar,” River said affectionately. “You’ve read every baby book in the library at _least_ twice. And made notes.” 

“Wow,” Martha observed with a slight sense of awe. “Now that’s impressive… I don’t think I was that organised.” 

“Former English teacher,” Clara admitted with a small shrug. “And full-time control freak. Books are good.” 

“Books _are_ good,” Martha concurred, pausing before continuing: “But your pregnancy is unique. I mean, besides the alien thing, all women are unique in their gestation. What’s normal for one woman _isn’t_ normal for another: nothing can be applied to everyone. Baby books tend to do more harm than good, because they only panic you about perfectly natural things.” 

“I know,” Clara admitted, as Martha began to wipe the gel from her stomach. “I just… it’s helpful, for me. I feel like it helps me know what to expect. Vaguely.” 

“Well then, I’m not going to discourage you,” Martha said with a shrug. “I’m just saying, don’t freak yourself out too much. And don’t hold them as being 100% true.” 

“I’ll try,” Clara promised, sitting up and pulling her top down, giving Martha an expectant look. “Now, I was promised peeing.” 

“And then you need a rest,” the Doctor instructed, and she gave him an unimpressed look. “What?” 

“I was promised shopping,” she pointed out. “Baby shopping. No backing out, Space Man.” 

Martha laughed gleefully as Clara disappeared out of sight. “Oh boy, you are in _so_ much trouble there. The shopping… oh _god_ , the shopping.”

“What?” the Doctor asked naively. “It’s _just_ a baby.” 

“Do you know how much stuff babies need?” River queried, giving him a long look, and the Doctor made a face. 

“Bottle, bib, cot?”

“Oh wow,” Martha said with a low whistle, looking to River with amusement. “Good luck with that…”


	17. See What Love Can Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor hadn't known what he was getting in for when he volunteered to take Clara baby shopping - if he _had_ known the magnitude of the task at hand, maybe he wouldn't have been quite so quick to suggest the idea. Despite the grumbling and the grouching, he finds himself getting rather carried away by the whole thing - not that he'd ever admit that, of course...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One fluffy, fluffy chapter for y'all. Baby shopping fluff!
> 
> Chapter title from "See What Love Can Do" by Eric Clapton.

The Doctor stood uncertainly in Cardiff city centre, looking around him with a sense of foreboding that typically only precipitated facing a fleet of Daleks or trying to stop the detonation of a bomb. Beside him, Clara and River were discussing what was apparently a pressing issue, their voices lowered as they bickered. 

“I vote Mothercare,” Clara asserted, one hand resting on her stomach as she chewed her lip, mentally weighing up the pros and cons of… well, the Doctor wasn’t sure. “And then we can go to John Lewis and the bigger shops.”

“But Mothercare is _dull,_ ” River complained, her tone whiny as she argued with the younger woman. “The bigger shops are much more you. _Us_. Much more us.”

“What’s more us,” Clara said patiently, slipping easily into teacher mode. “Is being prepared, so that this one-” she jerked her thumb towards the Doctor. “Doesn’t end up dropping the baby, or leaving it behind. Or worse.”

“And Mothercare facilitates this… how?” River asked blankly, and Clara scowled at her in displeasure. 

“Look, it’s _my_ body and _I_ vote Mothercare, so we’re going,” she snapped, seizing the Doctor’s hand and jolting him from his reverie as she squeezed his hand to elicit support. “OK, dear?” 

“Mm?” he said absentmindedly, tuning back in to the conversation. “Yes, OK. You choose, I’m not exactly the expert, Clara.” 

Clara smiled smugly at River, who glared back at her. “Fine,” the professor muttered under her breath. “Just don’t expect me to cede this easily next time.” 

“Next time?!” the Doctor asked in a panic, looking between the two women with abject horror. “There’s going to be a next time? How much stuff does one small human… well… half-human need?” 

“In between the puking, and the spilling, and the crying, and the shitting?” River thought aloud, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Quite a lot.” 

“Are you two going to complain all day?” Clara asked with irritation, rolling her eyes. “Or are you going to come and actually help me shop?”

“I…” 

“Don’t answer that,” she snapped at the hapless Time Lord, tugging him into Mothercare and seizing a basket with single-minded determination, scanning the shop with an inexpert eye and sighing deeply. “Just… both of you be nice.” Her tone and expression softened a fraction as she turned back to face them. “Please. This is a big, important day, so just… please, be nice.” 

“Hey,” the Doctor said softly, wrapping his arm around her waist reassuringly and kissing the crown of her head. “I’m always nice.” 

Clara raised an eyebrow delicately at him, then winked. “I was thinking more of River.” 

“I’m nice,” River said, pouting at the suggestion to the contrary. “Most of the time. When people are nice to me. Otherwise it’s just reciprocal unpleasantness from me.” 

“Well, just converge your niceness and help a pregnant woman out, OK?” Clara implored, stepping further into the shop and dragging the Doctor with her, looking around in awe. She had grossly underestimated the task at hand, that much was certain, but she tried to look more confident than she felt. “Right, I think today, because… you know, it’s early, maybe we could just get some clothes and bottles?”

“It’s not early,” the Doctor contradicted with concerted politeness. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Early in the pregnancy,” Clara explained patiently. “We don’t want to get too many things yet.” 

“Why?” he asked with blank incomprehension, and she affixed him with a sad look, unable to express the possibility of the worst-case scenario to him. 

“In case anything happens,” River said softly, finding the words that Clara couldn’t. “Anything… bad, to the baby, or Clara, and… you know.” 

“Oh,” he realised, pressing a tender kiss to Clara’s cheek. “Well, it’s not going to, because I’m not going to let it. But clothes and bottles sound like a good starting point for today, I think. Just one thing to note though – we don’t need a cot.”

Clara blinked at him in confusion. “Urm… we kind of do?” 

“No, we don’t,” he insisted. “We aren’t buying one, because I’m making one for the baby.” 

“Is that a good idea?” River asked, looking at him with obvious concern. “I’ve seen you make things…” 

“I’ve made cribs before!” he protested, and Clara looked at him with curiosity.

“Did you make River’s?” she wondered, but the Doctor shook his head. 

“No, River… River inherited my old one. A gift from the TARDIS.” He explained with a small smile, before Clara gave them both a long look, quirking an eyebrow at the pair of them. 

“That is _still_ weird,” she said distastefully. “But as long as it was a functional crib, then I think I trust you to make another. Subject to later approval.” 

“What’s still weird?” he protested. “I like making things! You’ve seen me make things!” 

“Your wife inheriting your cot,” Clara explained. “Not to mention the whole… knowing-your-wife-as-a-baby thing, _that’s_ weird.”

“Because this totally isn’t weird,” River teased, heading for the baby clothes section with a smile. “The three of us being-” 

“Hi!” a shop assistant interjected, smiling brightly between the three of them as she stepped into their path. “How can I help you guys today?” 

“Urm, we’re looking for baby clothes,” Clara explained nervously. “Just, you know, babygrows, vests, the basics.” 

“Are they for yourself?” the woman asked, and Clara placed her hand on her stomach in an instinctive gesture.

“Yep. Twelve weeks, just… you know, daring to dream,” Clara confirmed with a hesitant smile. “We just wanted to grab something small, to make it feel a little more real.”

“Sure, I completely understand! Well, we’ll find you something cute!” the assistant chirped, before leaning in conspiratorially. “Can I just say how nice it is to see your family getting involved?” 

“What?” Clara asked, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement as she surveyed the woman, who seemed unfazed by Clara’s confusion. 

“Well, it’s nice to see your father is helping out! A lot of young women can be reticent involving their parents with their pregnancy, but I’m happy to see you being so well supported!” the assistant enthused, and Clara felt the blood drain from her face as she wondered how best to explain the situation at hand. 

“I’m not…” she began, the Doctor frozen beside her, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he struggled, for the first time in a long while, to find words. “He’s not my… this is my husband.” She took his hand in her own, watching as the assistant went deathly pale. 

“I’m so sorry…” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Clara said with new-found confidence, smiling brightly and leaning up to kiss the Doctor’s un-protesting lips. “A lot of people make that assumption. They think I’m just a brainless golddigger. If only they knew the truth.” 

“The… truth…?” the assistant managed in a strangled tone, and River smiled at her condescendingly.

“He’s got a really, really big dick,” the professor said lasciviously, the words rolling off her tongue as she smirked. “Now, now, don’t look so shocked. I’m not her mother, darling. I’m the other wife.”

“The… other… wife…” the girl squeaked, before backing away and all but running from the three of them, leaving River and Clara in hysterics, and the Doctor still in stunned silence, the two women taking his hands and leading him outside before he could return to his senses. 

“Her face…” Clara said in between gales of laughter, leaning against a bench for support. “That was priceless. Literally, you couldn’t have made that up.” 

“She looked like she’d seen a ghost,” River added gleefully. “I mean; she must be so innocent to-” 

“It’s not funny,” the Doctor interjected, his tone curiously strangled. “That wasn’t funny, in there.” 

“Doctor?” Clara asked, taking his hands to try and calm him, but finding herself brushed aside as he strode away from them in agitation. “Doctor!” she repeated, jogging after him and seizing his hand more tightly, pulling him round to face her. 

“Let go, Clara,” he said with exhaustion. “Just let go.” 

“Why?” she asked, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I’m not letting you ruin today by going off and sulking.” 

“I’m not sulking,” he corrected her. “I’m leaving you two be.” 

“Why?” Clara asked, her tone wavering somewhere between irate and desperate. “For how long?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, embarrassed shrug. “A little while.” 

“Because of what she said?” 

“Because of what everyone will always say!” he said angrily, regretting his words as he saw her flinch away from him. “Everyone will always think that I’m your dad, or that you’re just a… whatever the thing you said was, or that I’m a strange, sick man.” 

“I don’t give a shit what people think of us,” Clara said fiercely, tears stinging her eyes as she looked up at him. “They can think that I’m a golddigger; I don’t care, you shouldn’t either.” 

“I don’t care what they think of me,” he said softly, his anger evaporating as he saw the depths of her commitment to him. “I care what they think of you. And as long as I’m with you, people are going to judge you as being something you’re not.” 

“So?” Clara said, a single tear crawling down her cheek. “I don’t care what people think of us, I just want _us_ to be a thing. You, me, River. Please, it’s all I ask, and it’s not much.”

“Clara…” 

“Shut up, Space Man,” Clara commanded, her tone unwavering, and he backed down. “ _We_ are going shopping. For our baby. You are coming with us, whether you like it or not, because this baby is half you, and therefore you’ve got to offset the potential for future angry eyebrows by at least buying them something cute.” 

“You said you liked my eyebrows…” he muttered, which Clara understood to be his way of apologising, and she leant up to kiss his cheek in gratitude. 

“They work on you,” she mused aloud, looking to River for support. “But not-” 

“Not necessarily on a small child.” River said decisively, taking both their hands in hers and leading them towards John Lewis before the Doctor could change his mind again. “Now, both of you – don’t go mad on the spending front. We’re not buying an entire wardrobe of clothes today. Maybe at a later date, but not today. Is that understood?” 

“Yes.” The Doctor said sulkily, while Clara nodded her assent, and River smiled, entering the department store with a spring in her step. 

“Right,” she said, looking around and appraising the shop’s layout. “Baby stuff: third floor. Lift, or escalator?” 

“Escalator,” Clara decided, wandering off in search of one. “Just hold onto him, he gets overexcited about the mechanics.” 

“I do _not_ …” the Doctor complained, but River still held onto his arm as they stepped onto the moving stairs behind Clara, ascending to the third floor and stepping into a veritable wonderland of baby clothes, tiny toys and nursery paraphernalia that seemed to stretch on forever. 

“Wow,” Clara said softly, her eyes widening in wonder. “It’s all so-” she turned to face the Doctor and River, but found only her wife present. “Where the hell did he go?” 

“He nearly dislocated my arm, so I let him wander off,” the older woman explained, and Clara sighed in exasperation, looking around for a flash of grey hair. “It may have been a poor decision, I admit.” 

“We’d better find him before he sonics a baby monitor to receive Radio Mars,” she said. “Or w-” 

She was interrupted by the return of the Doctor, holding aloft a small denim pinafore dress and a yellow cardigan, grinning goofily at them both. “Look!” he said happily. “Isn’t it cute? Can we get it? Please?” 

“Doctor,” Clara said, in what was supposed to be a chastising tone but fell somewhat short. “We’re here for the basics. Boring things, not pretty ones. Besides, we don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy yet.”

“Boys can wear dresses,” the Time Lord said in self-defence, looking at her imploringly. “Can’t we at least get something pretty?” 

Clara felt herself capitulating, and sighed in resignation. “ _Fine,_ ” she conceded unwillingly. “Some pretty things _and_ some practical things.” 

The Doctor grinned at them both and disappeared once more, leaving the two women to exchange a look. “It’s so hard to stay mad at him,” River said, with a chagrined laugh. “Especially when he’s that excited about something so adorable.” 

“Well, I suppose we should be the responsible adults then…” Clara said wistfully, heading towards racks of babygrows and examining them with a sense of uncertainty. 

“I’d say go with the multipacks,” River said firmly, snagging several and inspecting them critically, before dropping them into a basket at her feet. “For practicality. Little one can have cute _and_ practical clothes, regardless of gender.” 

“You’re right,” Clara concurred, peering at some plain vests before slipping them into the basket. “I think today we should stick to basic clothes, bottles, and maybe a blanket. Unless the TARDIS wants to provide one. God only knows. Do sentient time machines like babies?” 

“Yes, she does,” came the Doctor’s slightly muffled voice from behind them, and they turned to see him, arms laden with swathes of multi-coloured fabric, staggering slightly under the weight. “I might have got a bit carried away.” 

“Might?” Clara asked, taking some of the clothes from him and marvelling at his thoroughness as he beamed at her proudly. “That’s an understatement. What even _is_ half this stuff?” 

“Cute. That’s what it is.” 

“Doctor…” River began, before she noticed a tiny pair of dungarees and her expression melted. “OK, he maybe has a point.” 

“Not you as well,” Clara warned. “Don’t even…” the Doctor held up a tiny teddy bear, and her mouth formed a small, perfect _o_. “Oh my god, you make my life so difficult. How can I say no to that?” 

“Does that mean you don’t want any of these?” he asked, nodding to the pile, and Clara glared at him a little, countered with a tiny half-smile to reassure him that she understood his good intentions. 

“I didn’t say that. Just… River and I will do some vetoing.” Clara decided, and the Doctor sighed as the two women began to go through the pile, casting aside some items and cooing over others, sorting the clothes into two much smaller heaps. 

“You like pink, don’t you?” River asked him, as she held up a small pink dress adorned with daisies and admired it. “Considering we don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy…” 

“Pink is a great colour!” he enthused. “Not as good as blue, but pretty great. Boys can wear pink, and boys can wear dresses, so don’t look at me like that. I’ve got blue dresses and blue trousers too; I’ve covered all my bases.” 

“You’re just…” Clara smiled at him fondly, trying to find the right words to describe him. 

“What?” he asked, worry creeping over his face as she failed to find an appropriate adjective. “I’m what?” 

“Very post-modern,” she said lovingly, leaning up to kiss his cheek as River picked up the half of the pile they had chosen to keep and placed it in their basket. “For a two-thousand-year-old alien, that is.” 

“You’ve met Jack,” the Doctor said with a shrug. “Some things rub off. Besides, you don’t see as much as I do without realising that everything is always changing, and you have to change with it or get left behind. Time machine aside.”

“Well put, darling,” River said proudly. “Now, given the likely extravagant cost of this little lot, shall we get bottles another day?”

“Could be a plan,” Clara admitted, taking her wife’s hand and heading for the tills. “He’s paying; he’s got a credit card.” 

River stopped and turned to stare at the Doctor with incredulity. “ _You_ have a credit card?” 

“Urm…” he began nervously. “Well, technically it’s UNIT’s. It’s for my salary, we used it for the…” 

“You _arse,_ ” River muttered, getting into the queue and narrowing her eyes at him. “All those dates, all that making me pay for things…”

“No sulking,” Clara warned her. “He only got it recently, we had to ask Kate for it for the wedding.” 

Yet sulk River did, all the way back to the TARDIS with their bags of shopping, until the three of them reached the console room and were distracted by the insistent, unanticipated ringing of the phone. Snatching it up, the Doctor wedged it between his shoulder and his ear as he wandered around the console, flicking switches and programming coordinates as he did so. 

“Hello?” he asked apprehensively, unsure who would be phoning this number when both his wives were at his side. “This is-” 

“Doctor?” came a familiar voice, and he felt relief flood him. “It’s Kate.” 

“What can I do for you?” he asked, leaning over and activating speaker-phone mode so that Clara and River could eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Someone’s just used your bank card in Cardiff,” Kate said worriedly, and there was the sound of typing. “To buy three hundred pounds’ worth of baby clothes. We think it might’ve been cloned…” 

“Urm, Kate?” Clara interrupted, biting back her amusement at the situation. “That was… that was us, actually.”

“That was… you?” Kate asked in bafflement, and Clara could all but hear the cogs whirring in her mind as she struggled to make sense of the facts. 

“Yep.”

“Why were you buying baby clothes in John Lewis in Cardiff?” 

“Because we’re having a baby.” Clara said calmly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You and…” 

“The Doctor and River and I, yeah.” 

“River _Song_?”

“Professor River Song. Yep, that’s the one.” 

“So, you’re…”

“Pregnant, Kate, that would be correct.” Clara rolled her eyes at the Doctor, who was grinning like a schoolboy. “Twelve weeks. We were going to keep things a little quieter until later on, but hey, you rumbled our secret.”

“Well!” Kate enthused. “Congratulations, the… three of you! How are things going?” 

“They’re good,” Clara mumbled, sinking into the reading chair with a small sigh of contentment. “Just… pretty tiring.” 

“I hope he’s looking after you…” Kate said warningly, and the Doctor laughed. 

“As much as she’ll let me,” he assured her. “Which isn’t much, but better than nothing.”

“Good,” Kate said with more confidence. “You come and visit soon, we might be able to find some gifts for you… and we’d love an introduction to Professor Song.” 

“Gifts do sound wonderful, and I would _adore_ meeting some of my husband’s friends…” River said with a smile. “But for now, I believe we have some unpacking to do, right Clara?”

When she received no reply, she looked over to the worn leather armchair and took in the sight of her wife, sound asleep in the foetal position, smiling slightly as she slumbered.

“Oh Clara,” she murmured, crossing the room as the Doctor wrapped up the call, laying a blanket over the younger woman with the utmost tenderness. “Rest now, because you’ll need it later…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor, Clara & River spit on traditional gender norms, because they're deliciously post-modern.


	18. I Live For Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Clara is overjoyed to feel her baby kick for the first time, the happy occasion is marred by a number of successive ill omens. Forced with a terrible choice, can Clara allow herself to be logical? Or will she be blinded by her emotions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful betas, [YouLookLikeASchoolteacher](http://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookLikeASchoolteacher) and [thatTVfanlady1495](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thatTVfanlady1495). I owe you both hugely.
> 
> Chapter title from "To Love and Die," by Jhene Aiko.

The first time the baby kicked, Clara almost missed it. She was half asleep and laying in the Doctor’s arms, exhausted after a day spent running for her life, wondering how Cardiff, scans and shopping for tiny outfits could only have been two weeks previously when it felt like a lifetime ago. The Doctor’s hand was stroking a lazy, repetitive pattern on the small of her back, and the lure of sleep was lapping irresistibly at the edges of her consciousness when she felt a tiny fluttering in her abdomen, as light as a falling leaf but definitely discernible. She inhaled sharply and felt the nudging again, a little more insistent this time, as though pleased by her positive response, and she laid her hand on her stomach, irrationally hoping the tiny kicks may reach her palm through all that separated the two of them. She sensed the Doctor’s worry encroaching abruptly, and unable to find the words she needed, she placed her hand on his cheek and showed him the sensation, watching as a smile of wonder split his face in two and he slipped his hand inside her top to rest beside hers. Together, they waited for a repetition of the motion, and when it occurred he felt it vicariously but completely, then kissed her neck softly, feeling her pulse race under his lips as they smiled together and she fell asleep in his arms. 

The next morning, when she woke and raced to the bathroom in a practiced manoeuvre, Clara felt the fluttering again. As she bent over the toilet and was repeatedly, violently sick, there was the insistent nudging of her internal organs from within, and she smiled a little as she reached for a glass of water, imagining the tiny child offering a wordless apology for her discomfort. 

“I’m OK,” she whispered aloud, half to herself and half to her child, as she caught her breath between waves of nausea. “I can bear this for a little longer.”

 

* * *

 

At the conclusion of her fifteenth week of pregnancy, the nausea abated as suddenly as it began, and Clara rediscovered the joy of lie ins and breakfast in bed, uninterrupted by the acute need to vomit. Together, the three of them settled into a languid morning routine: The Doctor awakening first at an unreasonably early time and randomly selecting a set of coordinates; River rising from bed a little later and venturing out in search of food, drink and local delicacies; and finally the pair of them bringing breakfast to a half-conscious Clara in the late morning, her sat up in bed wrapped in the duvet and rubbing sleep from her eyes as they crossed the threshold. They would share pastries together and sip hot chocolate, exchanging quiet banalities as sleep fell from their shoulders and their eyes grew bright with wanderlust, before heading forth from the warm familiarity of the TARDIS to explore the locale that the Doctor had brought them to so haphazardly. Sometimes a world would be saved, sometimes a plan would be foiled, and sometimes they would simply have a day of rest, yet Clara would inevitably spend time complaining about the Doctor’s overprotectiveness, before he would place his hands on the convex curve of her stomach and murmur soft apologies into her ear until she capitulated to his remorse and admitted that, perhaps, sometimes, she might need his help. 

As her stomach swelled further and her back began to ache, the TARDIS led Clara to the warm sanctuary of the swimming pool and permitted her to disrobe and float weightlessly in the cool waters. She would drift for hours, her bump rising above the waves like a small island as she blocked the world from her thoughts and focused on her heartbeat and the tiny, unceasing nudges from her stomach, each one sending a small thrill of joy through her as she dreamt of the future. She would be joined, some evenings, by her husband or her wife, but mostly she swam alone, revelling in the peace of the affair, laying on her back and looking up at the faithful recreation of the galaxy painted on the ceiling above the water, wishing occasionally on a shooting star and praying for good health and happiness for the tiny child inside her.

 

* * *

 

The first time she fainted, she was eighteen weeks pregnant and they’d just saved a town in the Nevada Desert from the menace of an alien displaced in time. They’d burst through the doors of the TARDIS with a triumphant whoop, the cool interior a welcome change from the desert heat and the blazing sun, but the last thing Clara remembered was noting the temperature change, being unexpectedly sick, and then the floor rushing up to meet her in a way that she was certain floors were not meant to do.

When she came to, she found the Doctor and River crouched over her, their faces contorted with worry as she tried to sit up and found herself pushed, insistently, back to the floor by her wife, the Doctor’s jacket balled up under her head as a makeshift pillow as River’s thumb stroked over the back of her hand in a reassuring rhythm.

“What happened?” Clara mumbled after a moment, both hands cupping her bump and noting, with a flood of relief, the reassuring kicking from within, stroking a thumb over the taut skin and silently offering a prayer of thanks. 

“You fainted,” River said with concern, pushing Clara’s hair back from her forehead, her mouth twisting with worry. “When we came in. Gave us _quite_ the shock. Luckily hubby darling grabbed you, or you’d have a bashed in nose.” 

“Oh.” Clara murmured, trying to process the information. “Why’d I faint?”

“It’s a human thing,” the Doctor assured her, the certainty in his voice not quite enough to conceal the worry that outweighed it as he frowned down at the prone form of his wife, guilt flickering over his features. “Probably the temperature change, after being in the sun. My fault entirely. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Clara said uncertainly, her head throbbing as she looked around them, reaching for the Doctor’s hand. “And the baby’s fine too. It’s not your fault though, I just… it just happened, it’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked, the confidence melting away from his expression as he placed one hand on her stomach and kissed her forehead, trying to silently convey his relief that they were both alright. “We can call Martha…” 

“I don’t need Martha,” Clara insisted, reaching up to pat his cheek and then sitting up determinedly, ignoring the ensuing dizziness. “I need a glass of water, and bed.” 

“We can do that,” River said with a small, relieved smile, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “We can definitely do that. God, you freaked us out, Ms Oswald. Don’t do that again.”

“It _won’t_ happen again,” her wife decided resolutely, looking between their concerned expressions and vowing not to make a habit of the incident. “I’m not a fainter.”

 

* * *

 

The second time she fainted, she was swimming. An unanticipated wave of blackness descended upon her, stealing away her breath and her consciousness and leaving her – she was certain – in the depths of deep space, where she floated, weightless and afraid, for what felt like an eternity. 

When she awoke, gasping for air and feeling unreasonably lightheaded, it took her a moment to remember where she was, and why she seemed further from the stars on the ceiling than she remembered being. As she looked around her, she realised abruptly that there was an inexplicable absence of water, and that she was instead lying, quite surreally, on the bottom of the empty swimming pool, with the Doctor knelt beside her, scanning her with the sonic and trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his anxiety from her. 

“What-” she managed, before he looked at his screwdriver and scowled, and she felt fear crystallise in her stomach, panic flooding through her system as she considered the scenarios that could cause such an expression. 

“Stupid thing’s not happy,” he growled, shaking the device hard before commencing scanning her again, more precisely this time and with a slightly more relaxed expression. “What happened?” 

“I was just swimming, and the baby moved, and then… I was here,” she explained, still somewhat dazed by the incident. “Minus water. Where’d it go?”

“Sentient time machine,” the Doctor reminded her, before noting her blank look and adding: “She noticed you black out, and drained the pool slowly so you didn’t… well, drown.” 

“Oh,” Clara said, feeling a surge of relief, followed by a rush of affection for the ship, and she patted the turquoise tiles with gratitude. “Thanks old girl. We’ve come a long way, you and I.” 

“Well, don’t take it for granted,” the Doctor teased absentmindedly, placing his ear to Clara’s bump and worrying his lip as he listened, desperate to ascertain the child’s wellbeing before shifting his concern to Clara. “They’re fine. Are you fine?”

“Cold,” Clara realised suddenly, shivering as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “And confused. Mainly cold though.” 

The Doctor, stricken by his lack of consideration, slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, kissing her forehead as he did so. “You fainted again,” he stated simply, and she shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze. “You did, you said you wouldn’t but you did.” 

“So?” Clara snapped, her temper flaring as she felt fear burn through her system. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t try to drown myself, so don’t even start.”

“I’m not,” he said softly, holding up his hands in a submissive gesture, wanting only to establish what was wrong with Clara that could cause this. He hastily tacked on: “The sonic reckons you’re just very much anaemic, so we’ll fix that, OK?”

Clara sighed, reaching for his hand and squeezing it ruefully. “And if we fix it… I won’t faint again?”

“Here’s hoping.”

“Well then.”

 

* * *

 

She fainted a handful of other times, even with the iron-rich diet the Doctor was forcing her to stick to, but she managed to hide it from him and River with simple lies and empty smiles, and by isolating herself and claiming exhaustion at every opportunity. She _was_ exhausted, that much was true, but the rest was a defence mechanism, as she told herself over and over that the fainting was normal; double, triple checked in all the books to reassure herself; concluded that maybe fainting while pregnant was just One of Those Things, and resigned herself to living with it. 

It had been a day since the last incident when she emerged from her bedroom, eyes gritty with sleep, and stepped into the console room, looking around in consternation as she became vaguely aware that today was an important date, although she couldn’t place precisely why. 

“Happy week twenty!” came River’s voice from the upstairs deck, and recollection came to Clara as she suddenly remembered that this would, were this a fully human pregnancy, be her halfway milestone. She smiled wearily up at her wife, ascending the stairs with the utmost care, one hand on her growing bump as she did so, feeling the baby kick against her palm. She noted River’s uneasy glance in her direction and tried to smile more confidently, knowing that her wife and husband were worried about her and feeling an urgent need to allay their fears for her wellbeing. 

“Thanks…” she murmured in response to River’s greeting, before twisting her neck and looking around the room for the Doctor as she neared the top of the stairs, and it was then that her vision began to spin uncontrollably and she felt blackness rushing in, and the last thing she remembered before the room went black was River’s scream. 

When she opened her eyes, she became vaguely aware of a dull, throbbing ache in her head, and she lifted her hand to her temple, bringing it away to find her fingertips smeared with blood. She cursed under her breath as she realised what had happened, the fact that her cover was blown and that now she would be subject to being fussed over in a way that she despised. 

“No swearing, and no touching,” River scolded, and Clara blinked slowly and looked around her, realising that she was in the medical bay, and that River was stood over her with cotton wool, dabbing at her head wound and trying unsuccessfully to appear nonchalant. “I’ve just cleaned it, no getting your mucky fingers in there.” 

“What…”

“You fainted. Again. Down the stairs in the console room. Neither of us… neither of us was able to grab you, it was that quick. You fell, whacked your head on the steps on the way down. It freaked hubby the hell out.” River dabbed Clara’s cut again, tenderness bleeding through her tough façade as she looked down at her wife and admitted a small truth. “And me, actually. You landed hard.”

“What about…” Clara sat up and the room span uncomfortably, so she clutched the sides of the bunk for support until her vision settled down. “Fuck…” she groaned, placing one hand on her abdomen with concern and stroking lightly. “Is the baby OK?”

“Now,” River chided, side-stepping the subject neatly as her expression flickered treacherously. “What did you sit up so fast for? You’ll only make your headache worse, and it’s already going to be spectacular.”

“River…” Clara began, her voice panicked, but the other woman only turned away from her, reaching for a small package of plasters to hide her distraught expression. 

“Let’s get you bandaged up, shall we?” River enthused, her voice falsely optimistic, Clara’s fear only spiralling further out of control as her wife avoided the subject and refused to meet her gaze. 

“The baby-” 

“Two should do it…” River decided with forced positivity, and Clara grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, causing the other woman to cry out in pain, her cheerful front falling away. “Clara, let go!” 

“Is – my – baby – alright?” Clara snarled, her breath coming in heavy gasps as she narrowed her eyes at the professor, willing her to reply, needing to know that her child was safe and that all would be well. 

“Yes,” came the Doctor’s weary voice from the shadows, and he stepped forwards into the light, worry etched deep into his face, and Clara knew at once that something was wrong, that something serious had happened. “I’ll tell you all about it, but… River, maybe you should…”

The other woman scurried from the room without further coercion, leaving the two of them alone, and Clara felt the loss of the other woman’s presence as keenly as a knife.

“So…?” she prompted, fear settling over her as she felt her heart race in apprehension of his news and of the implications his words would have for their life together. “Is there anything wrong with the baby?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with the baby,” he clarified slowly, sitting beside her and putting his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair to avoid meeting her gaze and falling victim to the desperation he knew he would find there. “The problem lies with you.” 

“Me?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. “I only fell down the stairs… what’s… what’s wrong with me?”

“It’s not… Clara, your body has become convinced that the baby is a foreign allograft,” he explained, his voice intended to be low and reassuring but instead only worrying her further. “It’s triggered an immune response in you.” 

Clara didn’t need to ask for a definition to understand what he was suggesting. She closed her eyes, forcing back tears as she tried to steady her breathing and her heartrate enough for her to respond to him, getting them both under control with some difficulty. “So I’m miscarrying?” she asked, after a moment, with surprising calmness. “That’s the immune response that happens usually, isn’t it?” 

“ _Usually_ , yes” he admitted, still unable to look at her, unwilling make this imparting of facts any more painful than it had to be or make the situation real by admitting the truth. “But in this case, the immune response is just unprecedented…” 

“In what way…?”

He exhaled, drawing out the sound. “The baby isn’t half Gallifreyan,” he said unwillingly, picking at his cuticles as he spoke. “It was conceived in the vortex. It’s seventy-five percent Gallifreyan, because of the artron emissions of the TARDIS.” 

“Oh.” Clara said, still not really understanding but trying to pretend that she did. 

“It’s seventy-five percent Gallifreyan, so it’s stronger than you are. Human foetuses… human foetuses are limited in their sharing of the mother’s blood. They can share blood across the placenta, and some foetal cells might enter the mother’s blood, but nothing like… nothing like what my scans are picking up with you. The baby’s blood is mixing with yours, so it’s sapping your energy. Hence the fainting. Hence the exhaustion. Hence the anaemia.” 

“Right…” 

“This baby isn’t malicious, Clara, it just… it’s stronger than you,” he clarified, sighing deeply as guilt consumed him for his role in facilitating Clara’s current condition. “So it’s sharing your blood, sapping your energy… and triggering a massive immune response. Your body has become allergic to itself, because your blood is now half Gallifreyan.”

“Oh,” Clara whispered, as sudden and impending clarity dawned. “So I’m…” 

“You’ll die,” he said, finally finding the courage to look up at her, and the intensity in his gaze took Clara’s breath away as she saw the depth of his love for her laid bare. “If we don’t intervene, you’ll die.” 

“And by intervene you mean…”

“Terminate the pregnancy, yes,” he looked away from her, ashamed to carry on but knowing he must explain so that she could comprehend the gravity of the situation. “ _You_ are infinitely more precious to me than this child. You need to understand that.” 

“But…” she struggled to find the words to express herself and what she wanted. “How long?” 

“What?” 

“How long do I have?” she asked, fiercely determined to stick to her course of action. “Before it kills me?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure,” he confessed, looking down at the bed again. “Weeks? Months? Most likely weeks, at best.”

“Well, how long before the baby is viable?” Clara demanded to know, as a plan formed in her mind.

“I… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Nine, ten weeks? We’re not playing the risk game though, Clara. Not a chance. You are _not_ risking yourself for this baby.” 

“ _Our_ baby,” she reminded him pointedly. “But _my_ body. I will not let you kill this child.” 

“Clara, it wouldn’t be…” 

“It would!”

“ _I’m not losing you,_ ” he spat, tears filling his eyes as he looked at her, needing her to understand what he stood to lose if she were to die and needing her to understand that he needed her as much as he needed to breathe. “I _can’t_ lose you. You don’t understand, I just… I can’t let you do this; I love you too much to lose you.” 

“I demand you let me do this,” she said softly but with determination, taking his hand and squeezing in a reassuring gesture. “Because I’d rather try, and leave you a part of me, than not.” 

“What…”

“Well, if you save me, how long will it be for?” she asked pragmatically, finding an inner well of strength and drawing upon it. “I’ll age, and I’ll decay, and I’ll die. And then you’ll be without me and without our baby, and I am not inflicting that level of grief on you.” 

“So, you want to risk your life so that a tiny half-you can stick around to annoy me for years to come?” he asked gruffly, kissing their intertwined hands and willing her to change her mind but knowing that she was far too stubborn to do so, the ache of fear beginning to grip both of his hearts. “Cos that’s a bloody stupid idea, Clara.” 

“Well you’re not killing this child,” she said defiantly, staring him down with more confidence than she felt. “Weeks, you said, so weeks it’ll be, then we’ll go to Martha, elective C-section, neonatal care for little one, sorted.”

“Clara,” he whispered, his gaze darting around the room. “I can’t lose you, I honestly… I can’t do that…” 

“You won’t,” she assured him, squeezing his hand gently. “We’ve got weeks.”

 

* * *

 

 _Weeks_ , the Doctor had assured her. _Weeks,_ he had said to her with confidence, offering her hope that her own body would stay strong for her and the baby’s sake. _Weeks,_ he had silently prayed as she fell asleep in his arms that night, the wound on her head the only small reminder of the day’s heartache. _Weeks,_ he had begged the gods of time, in the hope that they would hear his plea, _weeks_ , he had whispered into Clara’s hair like a promise as she slept. 

But only hours later, Clara awoke in the depths of the night, her heartrate thundering out of control and her breath coming in irregular gasps, a dull ache beginning in her lower back and creeping across her abdomen, robbing her of breath as the baby kicked inside her, worried for the mother they were slowly and inadvertently killing. 

“Doctor…” she managed to gasp, groping around in bed and finding it empty, before her eyes adjusted and she took in his silhouette, stood beside the bed and pulling on a dressing gown, a phone cradled to his ear. He crossed the room to her once he saw she was awake, reaching down and scooping her into his arms with a sense of urgency, her head cradled against his own chest. “Where…” 

“Cardiff,” he said, his voice choked up as he ran through the corridors with her in his arms, a sharp pain beginning in her chest as he did so, stealing away what was left of her breath and forcing her to remain silent. “We’re taking you to Martha, she’s going to fix you, Clara.”

She was barely conscious as he laid her in the reading chair so he could programme coordinates, River crouching beside her protectively and stroking her cheek, noting her burning temperature with a stab of panic. “She’s going to be OK,” River forced herself to say measuredly, looking to the Doctor for reassurance. “We can save her.” 

Clara, her eyes closed, missed the look the Doctor gave his wife as he landed the TARDIS with more delicacy than ever before, lifting Clara up once again and crossing the pitch-black plaza to the teleport, where Jack stood, roused from his slumber by the Doctor’s desperate phone call only moments before.

“Is she…” he began, before taking in the sight of Clara, tiny and vulnerable in the Doctor’s arms, and falling sombrely silent, laying the guest pass around her neck with the utmost care and beaming the three of them down into the Hub. He followed behind them as the Doctor raced through the bunker towards the medical bay and surrendered Clara to Martha’s care, watching critically with narrowed eyes as she bustled around the pregnant woman, hooking her up to machines and screens that served only to reinforce his worst fears: falling heart rate, falling blood pressure… falling levels of life. 

“It’s not good,” Martha concluded with despondence after a few agonisingly long moments. “She’s suffering ventricular tachycardia, which is probably caused by the fact her kidneys are failing.” 

“Failing?” River asked in a faint voice, looking at Martha uncomprehendingly, feeling her stomach drop. “How can they be failing?” 

“Her immune system is attacking her own body. They won’t be the first things to go. We need to intervene or else hyperkalaemia and uraemia are going to start to impact on her other organs, and once this goes multiple, we’ve got very little chance. Intervention is the only thing we can do.” Martha looked to the Doctor uncertainly, looking for guidance. “So, do you want me to intervene?” 

“No,” Clara protested, reaching for Martha’s wrist and clutching at it weakly, her skin clammy. “No… intervention.”

Martha looked down at her, her eyes full of regret at the information she had to impart. “Clara, if we don’t intervene, you’ll die,” she said simply, laying the facts before her and trying to remain objective. “Very soon.” 

“You can’t…” Clara paused for breath, struggling to find the strength to protest the situation. “You can’t kill my baby.” 

“If we don’t intervene, you’re both going to-” 

The screens froze for half a second, before a flatline displayed across them uniformly, a horizontal line accompanied by a long, drawn-out beep. 

“What…” River began, the Doctor frozen in a paroxysm of horror beside her, unable to move oe accept what was happening, feeling his hearts still in terror at the prospect of losing Clara. 

“She’s asystolic,” Martha informed them as calmly as she could manage, watching River’s face crumple in distress, tears beginning to spill down the older woman’s cheeks as the Doctor remained motionless, his mouth open in shock. “Her heart has stopped.” 

The words were enough to jolt the Doctor from his reverie, and he grabbed Martha by the lapels of her white coat, shaking her hard. “Save her,” he commanded imperiously, his tone choked beyond recognition by hus fury. “Martha Jones, save her, or so help me, your life will not be worth living. _Save her._ ” 

“Doctor…” River beseeched him, pulling him away apologetically and wrapping her arm around his waist, as Martha turned back to Clara, beginning to administer CPR in desperation while the Doctor watched, helplessly, from River’s arms, praying silently, making desperate mental deals with gods he barely believed in, anything to assure Clara’s safety, Clara’s health, anything other than _this._

They watched Martha’s hands working repetitively, urgently, compressing Clara’s chest methodically, for what seemed like hours. 

“Martha,” Jack’s voice came from the doorway, quiet and resigned. “Martha, it’s been twenty-five minutes.” 

“Don’t you…” the Doctor managed to stammer, turning to scowl at him with tear-filled eyes that were full of agony. “Don’t you dare…” 

“She’s gone,” Jack said gently, looking down at Clara’s small, lifeless form. “Doctor, I’m so sorry, but she’s gone, this is just… it’s just… we can’t try forever.” 

“Time of death… 3:01am,” Martha murmured, looking from the clock back down to Clara before closing her eyes, as though denying the sight before her might restore the young woman to life. “Doctor, River…”

She looked across the room to them both, the two of them clinging together, her head tucked under his chin, and watched as they fell apart in synchronicity, their sobs filling the small room with the sound of raw, unchecked grief.


	19. Darling Don't Be Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Clara's death, the Doctor and River attempt to come to terms with a world bereft of her presence, and the loss of their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a nasty cliffhanger, wasn't it? ;) Anyway, this is without a doubt one of my favourite chapters (up there with chapter 14) so I hope you all like it.
> 
> Chapter title from "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri.

The Doctor was quite alone in his grief, that much he was certain of. Despite River’s presence by his side and the tripartite nature of their relationship, he was unable to elucidate his sentiment that River had never – and perhaps never would – understand the depth of what he felt for Clara and the depth of the debt he owed her. She had sacrificed herself for him, had placed her life on the line to ensure his happiness and his wellbeing; the egomaniac casting aside her own sense of self as she fought, tirelessly, to preserve his mental and physical fortitude. Yet the blame here lay with him, as he considered his capitulation to her ceaseless wish for a child, his permissiveness towards her increasingly reckless behaviour, and his refusal to disrespect her wishes, so fearful was he of invoking her ire and missing precious moments during which they could be together and in doing so thus losing her forever. 

 _Forever._  

The implications of the word struck him acutely in those moments, as he considered the options available to him; the fact he could intersect with her timeline quite inconspicuously and visit her once more, although he knew his plans would be fruitless as he would be singularly unable to leave her, and that she would be, as she ever was, too perceptive to his moods for him to conceal the truth from her. Should he retreat into the soft embrace of the past, he was certain that he would die there – with her arms around him and her smiling for him once more – rather than return to the cruel reality of what was for him now the future: a future devoid of her laugh, her smile and her soft words, a future devoid of the person who he knew had formed an irreparable, irreplaceable part of him in ways that time had written for them in the stars. 

There was more than just the loss of her to consider, he understood with sharp realisation. Their child would now never know the light of a thousand stars, their child that would now slumber for eternity in the enclave of Clara’s womb, protected from a million futures that he had scarcely begun to consider for them before they had been snatched away from them forever. He would never know whether he might have had a son or a daughter; whether they would be decidedly Clara-esque or more similar to himself; or whether they would be as fiercely independent as her or as sentimental as him. He would never see them grow up or hold them in his arms as though they were made of glass, and instead a thousand stolen moments played out in his mind: their first smile, their first word, their first steps. Moments he had barely dared to hope for, silently, in the depths of the TARDIS night as Clara slept in his arms and River slumbered beside them, as he prayed for good fortune and happier times.

 _Happier times,_ he thought bitterly to himself, pulling away from River’s stifling embrace and striding from the cloying atmosphere of the medical bay, unable to breathe in the room in which Clara had taken her last breath and unwilling to risk polluting the air that was still pure with the essence of her with his own black thoughts. He paced the bunker in agitation, scarcely noting River’s own agony as she stared blankly into the concrete space, resigned to leaving behind the wonders of _true_ space in memoriam of their former free spirit, tears dripping silently down her cheeks and onto the pyjama top she had borrowed, carelessly, from Clara only days before. Her wearing it felt an insult now, and he considered, wildly, snatching it from her skin and pressing it to his face, as though he might still catch Clara’s smell, as though by doing so he might force his way through a transcendental barrier and join his wife in another realm, a realm in which she would smile and hold out her hand to him, her eyes alive with light and vigour and health as she pressed her lips to his forgivingly and chided him for his tardiness.

Had she known how much he loved her? Had she known how much he had cherished every moment spent at her side, even those during which she was angry or frightened? Had he told her often enough, had he made his feelings the clearest they could have been? He had known, of course, he had seen the depth of her affections for him: it was impossible not to, as their hands brushed lightly or the warmth of her shoulders rested against his chest and her mind spilled over into his, her human brain so ordered and regimented and yet so consumed by her passion for him that it warmed him to the very core, pervading him with a sense of ego that he often likened to hers in moments of idle fancy, as her love radiated from her like the rays of a tiny sun. Her love for him, for River, and for the child she had died to protect, the child that neither of them would ever know, and suddenly he felt anger lance through him, anger and jealousy that she had died to save an infant she had never known, died to save someone other than him and thus left him bereft of her presence for the rest of what was, to him, eternity. But that was her all over – thinking of others, thinking of the children, in a way that he had so pointedly tried to avoid since the conclusion of the last Time War. She had saved them, she had saved his soul, yet whilst the children of Gallifrey had lived he had sought, with each passing day, to cast them from his mind lest he be reminded of what might have been. 

He felt his hearts clench painfully as he realised that, in that moment, he needed to be near his wife, and he barely noticed River’s confusion as he re-entered the medical bay, his volte face startling no one more than himself. He looked down at the trolley that Clara rested upon – simple, steel, functional – and immediately deemed it unworthy of her, making a silent vow that he would rest her, ultimately, on the most beautiful bower he could find, her body wreathed in roses to cover what she would have deemed imperfections but he would only have described as details for him to learn to love. He would take her to the stars one final time, shrouded in flowers and held in his arms, before entombing her forever in the earthly prison of her homeworld, beside the mother she had loved and lost so young, Clara’s fragile beauty preserved as she would lie, a tragic icon of fecundity, beside Ellie for the rest of time. 

He stroked her hair back from her face, his tears trickling down his cheeks silently as he scrubbed at them in irritation with his cuff, unwilling to permit them to fall upon her face lest they blemish its iridescent beauty. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, her mouth frozen in a neutral expression and her eyes closed so peacefully she might be sleeping, were it not for the frozen immobility of her chest and the coolness of her skin. He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, his hearts aching with the need for her to open her eyes and smile at him once more, for her cheeks to fill with colour and her to look down in the timid way that she reserved only for him and River. 

Yet her skin, as it was, remained unwaveringly wan, the colour drained from it in a way that he knew Clara would have found abjectly appalling, and he resolved that he would not bury her without a touch of what she had called – once, self-deprecatingly – her _war paint_ ; he would paint her lips and then kiss them one final time, determined not to allow anyone to accuse him of rendering her lacklustre in her eternal fate. Not that he would, of course, have ever deemed Clara _lacklustre,_ her hair alone a million different shades of chestnut and chocolate and coffee that he knew a human would overlook; her eyes cycling through a thousand shades of emerald and hazel and forest green as the light met her them in different ways. But he knew humans, he knew their limited grasp of colour, and he knew he could not condemn her to an afterlife without the bright lips that he had so adored seeing, coupled with the flash of her teeth as she smiled or the lingering prints her lipstick left on his chest as they kissed in bed. 

He turned then, with the utmost reluctance, to Clara’s abdomen, the swell of it jutting through the half-fastened dressing gown he had cast around her as they left the TARDIS, a final act of futility as he battled to save her life from a foetus that had wanted nothing more than to live. He rested his palm gently on her bump, running his fingers over the curve of her stomach, as he leant down and pressed a single kiss to Clara’s forehead, before moving his lips down and kissing her bump, where her belly button poked through the fabric, once, apologetically, in a way he had longed to do often during Clara’s pregnancy, held back by the maintenance of a carefully-constructed façade that he had sought to uphold. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment, his voice cracking as he finally enunciated the sentiments that had been swirling around his head for some time. “I was supposed to… I had a duty of care. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love, I let you down… I…” 

“Doctor,” River said softly from beside him, and he jumped, wondering how long she had been there and whether she had witnessed the erosion of his composure. “You… you didn’t…” he noticed then, with mild surprise, that she was crying, that her eyes were red and lacking in a happiness that he doubted she would ever be able to regain, and he took her hand, allowing himself to be led, unprotestingly, back out into the main bunker, obediently sitting as River indicated a chair. He stared straight ahead, his eyes unseeing, as his emotions consumed him from within, his hands worrying at each other until his cuticles split open and blood welled across the surface of his fingertips, each repetitive motion smearing blood across his hands. 

“Doctor.” Martha said gently, breaking his reverie by holding his wrists, and he was surprised to see her own eyes wet with emotion, feeling a stab of fury as he bitterly condemned her weak empathy. _She had not known Clara,_ he snarled internally. _She has no reason to cry._  

He looked to his palms and the streaks of blood, holding them up with near-childlike curiosity as he turned them over, wondering at the fact his appearance finally met with what one expected of a murderer. He had massacred his people, condemned his family, and now he had all but signed Clara’s death warrant when he had scrawled his name beside hers in the smooth expanse of the marriage register. _Murderer._

“She was…” Jack began, but a look at the grief etched deeply onto the Doctor’s face was enough to silence his words and render him nothing more than quiet and apologetic as he permitted the Doctor and River to mourn in what was only an auditory peace, for the emotions that raged within the two lovers was soul-destroying, all-encompassing, and unrelenting in nature. 

“Who was what?” came a familiar voice, and the Doctor looked up, taking in the sight before him and determining immediately that grief had proved fatal and that he had died of two broken hearts in the medical bay with Clara only moments before. _This can only be an illusion,_ he told himself. _This cannot be real,_ he reiterated as he took in the sight of her, her face rounded out in a way it had not been for many weeks, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders as she smiled around the room, one hand on her bump, as casually as anyone could possibly expect of a dead woman. 

He found himself smiling back at her, accepting his fate peacefully if it would mean, perhaps, that he could remain with her for all of time. 

“ _Who_ was _what_?” Clara asked again, looking at him and raising her eyebrows pointedly, and he could only marvel at the detail of his post-death hallucination, each action so realistic is made his – he was quite certain – lifeless hearts ache. 

“I…” Martha began, and it was then that the Doctor noticed her and realised that it was fundamentally impossible for her to be in his afterlife, or for Jack to be, and that perhaps this was a shared hallucination brought on by grief, a shared longing, or a desperate need for closure. Disappointment twisted through his gut, but he stood and crossed the room to Clara, determined to exploit this illusion, placing one hand on her cheek and marvelling at the full sensory experience of his vision – her skin was warm to his touch, the smell of her still discernible as she smiled up at him reassuringly. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him, and he found himself lost for words, unable to tell this dream version of his wife the truth of her own existence. “Is this anything to do with all those wires I was plugged in to? Because seriously, what was with them?” 

“You…” River managed, her voice sounding strangled as she fought to keep her composure. “You _died._ ” 

“Did I?” Clara asked languidly, surveying the occupants of the bunker with a playful grin, as though this was a joke that she had missed, taking in their expressions and then looking abruptly sombre. “Shit, did I actually?” 

“Yes,” Jack said in a faint voice, blinking rapidly to clear his tears. “You actually did.” 

“Am I dead now?” Clara asked, her voice rising to the point of panic, and Martha stood up, her hands shaking as she took in Clara’s healthy figure. 

“I don’t… think so,” she decided after a moment of uncertainty. “You don’t _look_ dead, but I can check.” 

“Oh,” Clara said, exhaling slowly in relief, and a small cloud of golden energy left her mouth as she did so, hovering in front of her for a moment before evaporating into the cool air of the Hub. “Well, that was… weird.” 

“That was…” realisation struck the Doctor and he felt hope begin to form as he began to comprehend what had occurred, feeling his spirits soar as he fought to remain coolly logical. “Regeneration energy,” he looked to River, his eyes burning with barely-suppressed optimism. “The baby’s seventy-five percent Gallifreyan, because of me and the TARDIS.” 

“Right…” Clara said uncertainly, biting her lip as she waited for him to continue, confused by his exuberance. “And this helps with me being the Living Undead… how?” 

“Well, it has my abilities,” he explained, taking her hands in his and beaming at her unabashedly, feeling relief flood his system as he contemplated the biological possibilities. “Including regeneration.” 

“OK…” 

“So, your blood mixed with the baby’s. When you died, the Gallifreyan part of your shared biology would have kicked in. You’ve regenerated.” 

“But my face didn’t change,” Clara said in puzzlement, twisting in his grasp to look for a reflective surface before the Doctor put his hands on her cheeks to focus her gaze back on him, needing her to share in his moment of joy and focus on him in that instant, her eyes locked with his. “I don’t think. Has it?” 

“You look… weller,” the Doctor clarified, stroking the soft skin with his fingertips, revelling in the warm hazel of her eyes; eyes that he had feared he might never see again. “But still you, mostly. I suspect however, that you may be a _little_ different… bigger on the inside.” 

“Bigger on the…” 

“Metaphorically. Your DNA will have fused with the Gallifreyan, Clara,” the Doctor gave her a small, quietly triumphant look, finally allowing himself to hope that there might be a future for them. “You’re augmented. _Parts_ of you are augmented.” 

“Parts including…” Clara asked, her voice little more than a whisper as she understood what he was hinting at and felt optimism take root in her heart, a smile twisting over her features as she gazed up at him, barely breathing as she waited for his response. 

“Lifespan parts, yes,” the Doctor murmured, watching River’s face light up across the room as Clara threw her arms around him, overcome by the thought and burying her face in his chest. “I’ll scan you to be sure, but… oh, gods, Clara… we thought… we really thought…” 

“I’m sticking around,” she insisted, her voice somewhat muffled by his dressing gown as she clung to him, breathing in his smell, taking in the reassuring beat of both of his hearts. “Forever and ever.” 

“Well, can you stop apologising?” he asked her in a slightly chagrined manner, and she tilted her head up to look at him as River crossed the room to them and joined the embrace, kissing Clara’s hair and wrapping her arm around her wife’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. 

“I’m not apologising,” Clara said in confusion, unsure what the Time Lord was referring to, her brow crinkling in consternation. “Should I be?” 

“No, but someone is,” he frowned as he tried to make sense of the situation. “Someone who… _oh._ ” 

“Oh?” Clara asked, as the Doctor pulled away from her and knelt down, his face on a level with her bump, his brow furrowed in concentration as he slipped one palm underneath her top and closed his eyes. 

“They’re sorry,” he whispered, looking up at her with pure amazement as he formed the simple words. “They didn’t mean to… they’re sorry. They love you.” 

“You can _hear_ them?” Clara realised, putting her hands over her mouth as she looked down at her husband, overwhelmed by both the realisation of what he was telling her and the previous few minutes.

“Her,” he corrected, kissing her bump lovingly and smiling with pride. “I can hear _her_.” 

“ _Her_ …” River interjected, putting one hand on Clara’s bump and smiling as she took in the news, still overcome by what had come before yet trying, for Clara’s sake, to appear composed. “So you were right?” 

“I’m always right,” he scoffed mischievously, looking up at his wives and beaming; the loss of Clara not quite forgotten, but superseded by the happy news. “Clara, she loves you. She loves you, she’s sorry, she never meant for this… Are you alright?” 

“I’ve just died, become half you, and found out I’m having a daughter,” Clara summarised, beginning to silently weep as she looked down at him. “Of course I’m alright, you daft old man.”


	20. What Do You Say to Taking Chances?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Clara's miraculous recovery, the Doctor struggles to reconcile his feelings for her: should he grieve? Should he be relieved? Should he try to pretend the incident didn't happen? Unable to cope with each other's presence, the couple decide space is what's needed - although can that really help their predicament?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is hella long (sorry not sorry) and also a bit of a mixed bag: some fluffiness, some angst, and some hurt/comfort. Also ft. the return of a certain character...
> 
> Chapter title from "Taking Chances" by Céline Dion.

Clara lay, still mostly asleep, in the Doctor’s arms, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over the exposed skin of her abdomen. He still marvelled daily over the fact that he was able to do this – that she was here at all – when he had lost her so recently; the memory of her lifeless form burned into his mind’s eyes. It had been four weeks since he had watched her die and abandoned all hope before witnessing a miracle, and thus four weeks since he had watched Clara change from his impossibly _human_ girl to his… well, he wasn’t entirely sure. He knew only that whatever happened, she would be _his ­–_ although a small part of him interjected to note _and River’s_ – until their final days, for he knew that the end of her would be the end of him, as when she held one of his hearts so completely, her eventual passing would seal his fate. 

He shook his head, trying to cast such morbid thoughts from his mind so as not to disturb his slumbering wife, instead slipping one hand down to cup her rounded stomach and reaching out with his mind to connect with that of their child in order to hold a silent, secret conversation. _Hello_ , he murmured softly, his tone conciliatory. _Good morning, little one…_  

He sensed a flurry of movement, a stirring of tiny limbs, and then a sense of disgruntlement overcame him as he realised that he may have just awoken his daughter from the sleep she had been sharing so peacefully with her mother. _What?_ Came a tiny, irate voice in his head. _Mummy and I were sleeping. This had better be important._

He bit back a silent laugh, already certain that their daughter would be far more like her mother than him, and splayed his fingers against Clara’s bump, offering silent apologies and soft sounds of appeasement. _I’m sorry, I just wanted…_

 _You just wanted to check I had come to no harm, and that I had caused no harm to her. I understand._ He could sense the pain in his unborn daughter’s words, sense the guilt that consumed her when she thought of what she had done to her mother, and he felt, for the thousandth time, a profound feeling of hopelessness at the fact he couldn’t help his child to cope with her emotions yet. 

 _No,_ he began uncertainly, trying to reassure her that he held no ill will towards her. _No, I wanted you to know-_

“Doctor,” Clara interjected aloud, her eyes still closed, and he jumped, snatching his hand away from her stomach as if he had been burned. “If you’re going to talk to her, could you do it more quietly? And, you know… when I’m awake, and she’s awake? Because if you start waking her up to do this when she’s born, I’m going to be pissed.” 

He felt a profound sense of amusement radiate from their daughter, and scowled slightly at his wife. “Of course I won’t wake her up. And even if I do, she….”

“She won’t cry. I know. I can hear her too.” Clara rolled her eyes at him as she sat up, pulling the sheets around her shoulders. “You know, I didn’t want your weird touch telepathy skills, but somehow I got them anyway.”

“It’d be-” 

“It’d be the DNA change from when I nearly died,” Clara finished, running her hand through her hair as she sat up slightly, yawning widely. “Yeah. Got it.” 

He flinched at the casualness of her words and she reached up to cup his cheek, running her thumb over the arch of his cheekbone and smiling warmly at him, her eyes wide and full of compassion. “Clara…” he began, his voice breaking, and not for the first time, she rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes and pressing silent kisses to his cheeks as he fought to maintain his composure. 

“You won’t just show me…” she grumbled as light-heartedly as she could manage, desperate to try and share the burden of his suffering and ease his pain, to try and alleviate some of the trauma he was still undergoing following that traumatic night in Cardiff. “Maybe if you showed me what it was like, I could help you with it. A problem shared is a problem halved, after all… isn’t that what they say?” 

“Oh yes,” he responded scathingly, instantly growing defensive in a valiant effort to protect her from the depths of the grief he still fought to overcome, despite her very real presence in his arms. “Maybe if I show you how truly terrible it was _that time when you died_ you can use your biologically improbable telepathy that you are _such_ an expert in to help alleviate my pain. What could possibly go wrong? I mean, other than you becoming clinically depressed?” 

“I just…” her eyes filled with pain, before their hazel depths iced over and she pulled away from him, rising to her feet unsteadily and yanking on her dressing gown to avoid looking at him. “There’s no need to be a dick about it.” 

“Clara…” he began, regretting his words instantly, but she only turned on her heel and stalked from his bedroom, slamming the door behind her as she went. He sighed, wondering how it could be that he was still – despite all his experience of loss – so clumsy and inept in his grief, so unable to deal with a sentiment that he had suffered for thousands of years. He closed his eyes and let the feelings overwhelm him: loss, pain, love, relief, fear… too much to process, even for his brain, and certainly far too much for Clara or River to comprehend, a maelstrom of darkness and self-loathing and a desire, deep down, for something so dark that neither of them would be able to stand him again should they come to know of his pain. 

So lost was he in his thoughts that he barely noticed the flight of his ship, or the quiet, perfect landing, and it wasn’t until he felt a profound sense of unease radiating from the TARDIS that he opened his eyes and realised they were no longer in the vortex.

 

* * *

 

“Remind me why we’re here?” River asked, walking half a step behind Clara, looking from the beach on their left to the clear blue sky and then to her wife apprehensively, feeling a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach. “I mean, I get that it’s escapism, but why are we escaping?” 

“Because _he_ is being a prat, and this is my home, and I want a trip out,” Clara explained, her words a little sharper than intended, and she immediately felt a pang of guilt, slipping back to take River’s hand in hers and continuing in a more playful tone: “And also, there’s a beach. With sun. Actual sun! Earth sun!” 

“Clara, it’s…” River’s brow furrowed as she tried to work out the approximate date, squinting at the sky and the inclement weather front on the horizon. “September, isn’t it?” 

“Well, from a strictly linear…” Clara quipped, then caught River’s eye and grinned. “Yeah, it’s September. Don’t worry, I’m not going swimming. Not least because I look like a whale. Don’t want to freak out the coastguard: ‘beached whale spotted on Blackpool Beach’... the Doctor would have a field day with that.” 

“To be fair, you’re a hell of a cute whale,” River said with a small smile. “Albeit quite small in stature, but mighty in personality and bossiness, which is definitely where it counts.” 

“Shut up,” Clara grinned despite herself, looking up at River with her eyes narrowed as she considered something she could tease her wife about. “At least my height isn’t 90% composed of my hair.” 

“You make a fair point,” River concurred with a modest shrug. “If we’re not swimming, do you want ice cream? I can certainly buy you ice cream, whale or non-whale. And then we can sit in deckc- OK, maybe not deckchairs, you might get stranded, and I’m not going to be the one rescuing you.” 

Beside her, her wife groaned, her mind temporarily distracted from the argument with the Doctor. “I feel so _huge,_ ” she complained bitterly, rubbing her bump and pulling a face. “And I’m only just halfway gone, I don’t get it.” 

“It’s because you’re so small,” River offered, slipping her arm around Clara’s waist and giving a light, reassuring squeeze. “That’s why you feel so weird. Anyway, you’re growing another life, you’re allowed to look however the fuck you like. Whale or not.” 

“I know… I just don’t feel very… I don’t know,” Clara sighed unhappily, embarrassed to make her confession. “I thought being pregnant was supposed to make you all glowing and radiant. I don’t _feel_ very radiant.”

“You look beautiful, Clara. You don’t need to worry about that,” River assured, taking Clara’s chin in her hand and tilting her wife’s face up so that her gaze could meet her own. “You’re always gorgeous to us.” 

“I don’t _feel_ gorgeous…” Clara muttered miserably, casting her eyes down to the promenade and sighing. It felt like such a menial complaint, yet it nagged at her constantly – her sense of physical unease due to her usually svelte figure being almost comically swollen around the middle. 

“Well, how _do_ you feel?” River asked, stepping up to a small kiosk and ordering two ice creams while keeping her attention on her wife. “Because you know, you look pretty damn great. Just FYI.” 

“I feel… I don’t know. It’s not just about appearance, it’s also about feeling…” Clara sighed again more deeply and accepted the proffered ice cream cone with a murmur of thanks, taking a lick every other word as she fought to elucidate her sentiments. “Feeling like not-me. Like, I just feel… spaced out, and disconnected from things. Like I can’t really relate to anything or anyone, because everything’s changed now, and I’m not the same person.” 

“Well darling, you’re _not_ the same person,” River said quietly, paying for their desserts before linking arms with Clara and wandering slowly down the promenade both of them studiously quiet for several moments. “You’ve grown as a person in the last few months – _everyone_ changes all the time, no one is fixed in their identity. Not to mention the fact that, you know, your genetic makeup has been entirely rewritten, of course you feel disconnected from things. It’s normal given the circumstances.” 

“I know, but just…” Clara licked at a drip from her ice cream distractedly, unsure how to ask the question: “ _You’re_ not fully human. Isn’t it weird?” 

River shrugged. “Not really. I’ve never been anything else, so I don’t really have a point of reference to work from. I mean, I _used_ to be able to regenerate and now I can’t, so that was a bit of a mindfuck… but it was a voluntary sacrifice for love, so it’s not like, an identity crisis or anything. _That_ part came from the brainwashing, which, you know, I thankfully broke free of, or I don’t think we’d be having this conversation.” 

“I am _not_ having an identity crisis,” Clara insisted with a scowl. “I mean, identity crises are generally a bit more… all-encompassing, this is just vaguely uncomfortable.” 

“Could still be a crisis of sorts though. Identity or otherwise…”

“Clara Oswald?” came a chillingly familiar voice, and she froze, her shoulders slumping as she turned on the spot to take in the unwelcome sight of Nina, stood a little way away with her arms crossed, surveying the two women with a disdainful look. “Well, how times do change. This little arrangement sure looks like an identity crisis to me.” 

“Nina,” Clara acknowledged wearily, unwilling to start an argument with her old friend, particularly not in the heat of the September day. “This is River Song. She’s my-” 

“ _River Song_?” Nina reiterated disbelievingly, her expression incredulous. “What’s that, your burlesque name?” 

“Oh yes,” River purred, facing up to the younger woman with a confident smirk, sizing her up with her eyes. “But now now, darling… why stop at burlesque? I _am_ multi-talented…” 

“What’s your real name?” Nina asked with some disgust, arching one eyebrow disdainfully, but River’s smirk only broadened at the opportunity to tease this Earth girl who had been – she knew for a fact – so unkind to Clara in the past. 

“Oh, now. You won’t ever get to know me well enough to find out.” River gave her a condescending look of pity. “So don’t go worrying that pretty little head of yours.” 

“This pretty little head is more concerned with my best friend, thanks.” Nina responded, as she turned her attention back to Clara and gestured to her friend’s bump in a vague way, clearly somewhat disgusted by the development. “So, that’s a thing that happened then?” 

“Yes, this is a thing,” Clara said tightly, her heart racing but her tone remaining as measured as she was able to manage, her words somewhat clipped. “Do you have a problem with that?” 

“Do I have a problem with you fucking someone old enough to be your father? No, never,” Nina thought aloud cattily, savouring the moment to get some jibes in. “I mean, Clara, that’s _gross_. Unless… wait, isn’t he loaded? You clever bitch, that’s pretty genius. Fuck him, get knocked up, tactical divorce to be with your burlesque dancer. My my, Oswald, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” 

“That’s not what happened,” Clara replied hotly, feeling her temper beginning to flare at Nina’s casual cruelty. “He…” 

“He what? He pinned you down and had his wicked way? He knocked you up then beat you up and you did a runner? He’s eloped with another bloke? Do share, darling.” Nina’s eyes were cold and hard, and Clara’s fury focused abruptly, anger coursing through her as she considered her former best friend. 

“It’s none of your fucking business, Neen, but he loves me, and he’s at home waiting for me. I’m _just_ on a walk with my friend _,_ because it’s not nineteen-fucking-hundred, women are _allowed to do that_. He’s probably cooking me dinner and fetching me roses, then waiting for me in bed. So fuck off, Nina. OK? Just leave me the _fuck_ alone, it’s not my fault you’re a jealous cow.” Clara snarled, but Nina only continued to smirk at her infuriatingly, her eyes a little too knowing for comfort. 

“You seem a little too angry…” she mused aloud in a needling tone, examining her nails casually as she continued: “It’s almost like you’re hiding something from me. I know you, Oswald. Remember that. I know when you’re lying to me… and you’re a dirty little liar, right now, aren’t you? What aren’t you telling me, hm? What don’t you want me to know?” 

“I…” Clara began, before a familiar voice called her name and she turned to see the Doctor hurrying towards her, the relief tangible on his face mirrored in her own expression. 

“Clara!” he enthused again as he reached them, wrapping his arms around her in a protective gesture and immediately feeling her presence in his mind, as stubborn and irate as ever: _I will tolerate this for now to get her away from us, but I still think you’re a prat. Darling._

“Hi you,” she said with saccharine sweetness, smiling up at him as adoringly as she could manage given the circumstances. “Look, we bumped into Nina! What a small world, hey?” 

“Hello,” he said with cool politeness, wrapping his arms around Clara’s waist and resting his hands on her bump, before pressing a kiss to Clara’s hair in deliberate act. “Nice to see you again, Nina.” 

Nina’s expression soured and she fell silent, turning on her heel and stalking away discontentedly, muttering all the while under her breath. 

“Well,” Clara said in a falsely bright tone, pulling away from the Doctor’s embrace. “It turns out I can’t even go for a trip without social screw-ups, so I am retreating to the TARDIS and isolating myself from all interpersonal relationships for the next few hours. Personal space appreciated from all three of you, including the TARDIS. I’m serious, no freaky telepathic stuff. Ta.” 

“I…” River and the Doctor began simultaneously, but Clara held up one finger, cutting them both off before they could get any further. 

“No arguing, no talking to me, no making me feel guilty. I need _me_ time; you need _you_ time; I need to not punch Nina in her stupid face… and also get over my husband being a prat. That’s the ugly truth of the matter. Got that?” 

The Doctor and River nodded in synchronicity, watching as Clara strode – a touch unsteadily – back to where she had parked the TARDIS, one hand on her bump as she went.

“What in Rassilon’s name did you say to her?” River asked, looking at the Doctor out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, irking your pregnant wife, that’s a new level of idiocy even for you.” 

“I told her,” he said with a sense of resignation, passing his hand over his face. “That I wouldn’t show her what it was like for me when she died, because she wouldn’t be able to handle that, it would be too much for her.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” he asked in bafflement, before catching River’s look and expanding: “And I may have been a little ruder than necessary. I just… I can’t show her that, I can’t let her deal with it, River…” 

“It’s her choice, Doctor… and in the meantime you’re placing this burden on yourself,” River said softly, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm tenderly. “You’re trying to reconcile the grief of losing her with the joy of having her back, and she doesn’t understand the extent to which you grieved in that brief time that she was gone. So she doesn’t necessarily understand what the problem is, Doctor. You’re happy, but you’re sad. It’s like you’re malfunctioning.” 

“That’s my line,” he murmured, thinking back to the Orient Express with a fond smile. “When did you get so wise?” 

“Might have been that time I fell in love with a Time Lord,” River’s mouth turned up a little at the corners. “You need to talk to her. And you need to show her what you felt.”

The Doctor sighed as he accepted the inevitable. “Fine. I’ll _try._ ”

 

* * *

 

Clara lay in bed, one hand stroking smooth circles on her bump while her mind wandered idly.

 _I’m sorry_.

She sighed deeply, the repeated refrain as familiar to her now as her own heartbeat. Ever since that miraculous day when the constraints upon her physiology had been overcome by a combination of foetal love and Gallifreyan biology, her daughter had spent hours each day reiterating silent apologies to her, accompanied by tiny, feather-light nudges from feet and hands that should – by rights – be drumming a regular rhythm against the inside of her abdomen, but instead were all too often to be found determinedly motionless.

 _Please,_ Clara beseeched, for the thousandth time. _You aren’t harming me or bothering me. You moving – no, you_ dancing – _makes me happy, it lets me know that you’re OK. Please. I love you, and it’s_ my _job to protect_ you _, not the other way round. I want you to be happy and not to worry too much about me._

 _But I hurt you before,_ her daughter thought back with reticence. _I hurt you, and so I hurt daddy, and I hurt mama, and I’m scared._  

 _Scared?_ Clara asked, concerned by her daughter’s words. _Why are you scared? You shouldn’t be scared, you’re safe! You’re inside me and you’re safe from everything bad._  

 _But I’m scared I might hurt you again,_ her daughter confessed. _Because I didn’t mean to hurt you before, but I did._

 _You are,_ Clara thought with mild and good-natured irritation, _your father’s daughter to the core. A worrier through and through. You saved my life – you come from a_ long _line of savers of worlds, so please don’t worry about me. Be yourself. Be your whole, beautiful self, little one, for me. I love you, and I want you to be happy._

_But mummy-_

_My wish, tiny baby, is for you to live your life to the full every day. You have stardust in your veins, my darling, because you came into creation with the light of galaxies upon my skin. You were born of a time traveller who ran from a place in which he didn’t belong, and a woman who ran from herself… a woman who has survived far greater things than the ordeal you consider yourself to have ‘inflicted’ upon me. You are a wanderer by blood, so don’t still your feet on my account, little one. You were made free, so_ live _free._

There was, in that instant, an insistent nudge against her palm, and she smiled warmly in response. “There,” she whispered aloud. “That’s my girl.”

There was a soft knock at the door and she looked up, calling out her assent to enter as the spell of the previous few moments was broken. The Doctor sidled into her room apprehensively, his face too conflicted for her to read, and she felt her heart clench immediately in anticipation of what he was about to say. 

“No,” he asserted as soon as he caught sight of her expression, holding up his hands in a pacifistic gesture as he crossed the room to sit on the bed beside her. “No, don’t worry, this is nothing bad, Clara. This is… this is me opening up.”

“Right…” she said uncertainly, unsure of where this was going. “About?” 

“L-losing you,” he managed after a moment, closing his eyes and taking her hands in his, cupping them gently in his much-larger palms. “I just… I want you to understand, is all. So you can understand why I might be a little maudlin sometimes, and why I find it hard to think about… the thing.” 

“The me dying thing?” Clara asked, and he flinched as if he’d been burned, his eyes full of pain.

“Yes, that thing,” he concurred, looking up to meet her gaze waveringly. “That’s the one. I’m going to show you… are you ready for this?” 

Clara moved across the bed and folded herself carefully into his lap, wrapping his arms around her securely in an act of physical reassurance that she knew he would need in the coming minutes. “Yes,” she said softly after a moment. “I’m ready.” 

She was wrong. 

She was not ready for the grief which overwhelmed her almost instantaneously – heavy and thick as sap, it coursed through her veins and slowed the beat of her heart, stole the breath from her lungs and dulled the feel of the Doctor’s arms around her, reducing her to a being who was entirely introspective, entirely centred on the ecstasy of crisis that she felt consuming her. It forced its way up her throat and stole her words, radiating outwards from the depths of her chest, forcing her eyes shut and isolating her from the world around her, forcing her to concentrate on the emotional agony that broiled inside of her.

She was not ready for the images that played before her: a million, billion images of her echoes seen from thirteen different sets of eyes, each of them tinged with a new emotion, a new sentiment, until finally there was a warm feeling in her chest and she recognised herself, her _true_ self, answering the door to a curious man who she would one day grow to love unconditionally. Snapshot after snapshot of her, ranging from the unremarkable to the remarkable, each of them having been meticulously filed away by her Time Lord, and each one imbued with a sense of carefully curated love, until finally the slideshow ended and the last happy image – her laughing, her hand cast carelessly over the Doctor’s knee, two nights before her death – was shattered by the image of her lying still and cold in the Hub. An understanding, then, an understanding that it was over, that everything was over without her, and then another sentiment, one that took her breath away completely. 

 _You would’ve…_ she asked silently, too paralysed by the second-hand grief to speak aloud, too afraid that her verbal words would offer a sense of reality and validity to the idea she had glimpsed in that awful moment. 

 _Of course I would,_ came his response, instantaneous and unabashed, unflinching from her horror. _I had no reason to go on._  

 _You had River,_ she thought accusingly, aghast by the prospect and by the depths of the desperation he had felt in that instant. _You had River to live for, you can’t ever… people need you, the universe needs you, you can’t just kill yourself!_

_I had River, yes, but I had lost my wife and child, Clara, and I had lost my will to help others when I couldn’t even help you. I had condemned you to death when I impregnated you, I might as well have killed you myself, Clara._

_And to punish yourself you would have robbed yourself of life? You would have robbed yourself-_

_I couldn’t go on,_ he thought emphatically, his words silencing her. _Clara, I blamed myself, I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with that. I would’ve made it quick, and we would have been together in another place. We would have been together and happy, with our daughter, and your parents…_

 _And that’s supposed to make it better?_ She asked him, her anger abating as tears welled in her eyes. _You would be dead but you would be dead_ with me _? How is that supposed to make me feel any better?_

 _You were willing to die for Danny,_ he argued, feeling a slight sense of remorse for broaching the issue. _Why is this any different?_

 _Guilt,_ Clara fired back immediately. _Guilt for what I did to him._

 _And I was guilty about what I did to_ you _, Clara. How is that different? You felt you had misled him, you felt you had hurt him with your lies, and so you felt guilt. I felt guilt, Clara, because thanks to me you were dead – you had gone into organ failure because of a biological problem I should have foretold, or picked up on. The guilt was killing me, Clara, so I wanted to escape it._

 _Oh,_ she thought quietly, as comprehension dawned upon her and her sense of empathy grew. _I understand now. I’m sorry for not understanding before. But you have to make me a promise, Doctor, you have to be strong for me._

“My Clara,” he breathed aloud, pressing a kiss to her hair and breaking the mental link between them in favour of elucidating his words verbally, and Clara felt a sense of clarity settling over them both. “I will always be strong. As long as you’re by my side.”

She wriggled round to face him, her bump sandwiched awkwardly between them both as she straddled his lap, a tiny smile playing over her lips. “I’m here,” she murmured quietly. “I’m right here. We all are. So no giving up on living just yet. We’ve got a baby to raise.”


	21. Truly The Angel’s Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The call for help had been mysterious enough to attract the Doctor's attention, and so of course Clara and River had insisted on tagging along on the mission. It wasn't supposed to be risky - a simple task, one they'd carried out a thousand times - but then Clara finds herself alone, vulnerable, and discovering a single, dangerous word: _hybrid_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot actually believe the crazy amount of hits this has! You're all wonderful.
> 
> This chapter is for TheSaddleman, for his constant wonderful comments (and Tumblr posts.) 
> 
> Chapter title from "Isn't She Lovely," by Stevie Wonder.

Now that Clara understood, of course, it was almost impossible to persuade her to leave her husband’s side, so intent was she on staying stoically beside him to offer the constant reassurance of her presence. He’d tried to argue – once, meekly – that she should perhaps be resting, but the ensuing argument and the broken crockery that had littered the console room had brought him round to her point of view, and thus he had capitulated to her will and permitted her to stay with him. She would consent to leaving him only to be with River, and so she oscillated between her two partners for several weeks, moving around the TARDIS in tandem with them and refusing to be isolated, lest painful memories resurface or truths have to be faced. They would fall asleep together each night, a tangle of limbs and shared thoughts, and each morning when she awoke, there would be someone at her side to hold her and wipe the vestiges of sleep from her eyes, to kiss her conscious and murmur soft words promising exploration of new star systems, or planets to save. 

Because that was what they _did,_ that was who they _were,_ and she feared – irrationally – that if they stopped being themselves then something disastrous would befall them. So it became a source of contentment, and later contention, as the Doctor tried to suggest to her that she may wish to stay at home. She wasn’t quite as fast as she had been before, that was true, but the adrenaline sent her baby into a dance that traced galaxies across Clara’s palms, and she couldn’t possibly give that up. So some days they slept, and some days they ran, and all the while Clara’s taste for adventure refused to wane, even as her stomach swelled and running because more difficult.

 

* * *

 

“Clara, we can’t just _leave,_ ” the Doctor protested in a low voice, as they crept along the deserted corridors of the space station they had found themselves summoned to, trying to keep as quiet as possible as they explored, torch beams sweeping across the metal floors. “Just because it gives you… what was it?” 

“Doctor,” she said, her voice surprisingly tight with fear as she looked around them with wide, nervous eyes, feeling – for the first time in a long while – that they shouldn’t be here, that this exploration was in some way _wrong_. “This place is giving me bad vibes. _Both_ of us bad vibes, me and the baby, seriously, we should go.” 

“But we were called here,” he argued, stopping to survey his pregnant wife with exasperation, frustrated that after her demands for adventure she had now decided that this was one adventure they should not be having. “By the crew. Where _are_ the crew?” he wondered aloud, and both women rolled their eyes, bemused by his refusal to acquiesce to their intuition. 

“I don’t know,” River asserted with polite resignation, longing to return to the TARDIS with Clara safely at her side. “We don’t know, and we don’t _want_ to know. This is deeply creepy, and deeply suspicious all round. Normally I would be all for exploring, but I trust the pregnant lady, so I second Clara’s argument in favour of just leaving. Nowhere else we’ve been recently has been this… dodgy.”

“You promised us twin suns rising over a sea made of liquid sapphires,” Clara said accusatorily, accompanying her words with a scowl at her husband. “ _Not_ a weird deserted space station that’s seriously freaking out both of your wives _and_ your unborn child.” 

“It’s not a weird deserted space station,” he grumbled pedantically, looking down at his feet as he spoke. “It’s supposed to be a viewing platform, to witness the imperial majesty of Hachite’s oceans. A tourist destination.”

“So where’s the tourists?” Clara asked for the hundredth time, throwing her hands up in the air as she spoke. “Or the crew? Seriously, you have to admit it’s weird – calling for help and then vanishing. No wonder it’s so…” 

“Oh don’t tell me,” the Doctor replied, his voice dripping with unnecessary sarcasm as Clara’s worries clashed with his innate curiosity. “It’s just swimming in _bad vibes._ ” 

“Don’t be a prat,” River said sharply to him, drawing Clara closer to her and putting her arm around her wife’s waist, determined to protect her. “You keep exploring, space man. Clara and I are going to stay here-” she gestured to the plush seating area they had come to. “And try to not think about what happened to the crew, while you sleuth about for clues, Scooby Doo style. Got it?” 

“Boring,” he muttered under his breath, before straightening up and adding more loudly: “Fine.” 

River gave him a satisfied smirk and sank into one of the leather seats that lined the room, pulling Clara down to sit beside her as they watched the Doctor stalk off in the vague direction of the control room. “I don’t like this,” she murmured quietly to Clara, troubled by the atmosphere of the base. “I’ve got bad vibes too. But will he listen? Will he hell. _Such_ a man.” 

Clara laughed a little, despite herself, nuzzling her head into River’s neck and beginning to stroke soothing circles on her bump. “Little one doesn’t like it either,” she said softly, her tone laden with concern. “She’s pretty loud in my head. She thinks going back to the TARDIS might be a good idea. It’d be safe, at least. I’ve never had this before – it’s usually just running and excitement, this is new and it’s horrible. Maybe…”

“Sadly he’d never let us live that down,” River said with an uncomfortable grimace. “Slinking off back to the TARDIS is very much not recommended. I did it once and he ribbed me about it for _years_. I had to do some truly wicked things to get him to forget about it.” 

“Well,” Clara attempted a smile, trying to quash her fear. “I guess that for now, sitting here is the safest bet. At least I’ve got you, and you actually believe me about the bad vibes thing. Unlike _some_ people.” 

“Of course I b-” River was interrupted by a strange noise from one of the corridors that radiated off from where they were sat, and her head snapped up as she looked around for the origin of the sound, immediately on her guard, her arms shielding Clara. “What was that?” 

“I have no idea, and I’m also kind of too tired and freaked out to care,” Clara groaned, but she felt curiosity stir in the pit of her stomach, burning fiercely alongside her fear of the unknown and her sense of wrongness about being in this place. “Oh, go and find out, I can see you’re itching to.” 

“Are you sure?” River asked, but Clara could already see in her wife’s eyes that she had decided to go, the need for knowledge and certainty too fierce to pass over the opportunity to know something that the Doctor potentially did not. Despite her fear, Clara told herself that she would be fine, that she could stand up for herself or run as appropriate, and thus she smiled at her wife a little, forcing the worry from her eyes. 

“Go!” Clara insisted, with what she hoped was a brave expression, and River stood up hesitantly, brushing herself down in readiness to flee if necessary.

“I’ll be _right_ back.” She assured her wife with a confident grin, and with that she was gone, the darkness of the corridors enveloping her within seconds, and Clara leant back on the seat, trying to ignore the racing of her heart and a sudden, impending sense of foreboding which had struck her out of nowhere. 

She closed her eyes before taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, and it was then that she felt strong arms wrap around her, one hand clamping down over her mouth before she could scream, and she was dragged back into a pitch dark tunnel by unseen assailants. Her instincts kicked in and she tried to struggle, tried to free herself from whoever it was that was holding her, but she felt something cold and hard press into her temple and understood the silent threat enough to fall still, as her captors bound her wrists together and forced a length of fabric into her mouth as a rudimentary gag. 

“Walk.” One of them instructed in a rough voice, and so she did, holding her head up defiantly as she stumbled through the darkness, emerging into a circular chamber packed with advanced technology from floor to ceiling. As Clara looked around surreptitiously, she took in the sight of a knot of men talking in lowered voices, pausing in their conversation to turn and look at her with the kind of look that struck fear into her heart, and as she was forced into a chair she caught the odd word they were saying: _hybrid… dangerous… intervene…_  

 _This is bad, mummy,_ came a tiny voice in her head, and she closed her eyes to the world and tried to focus on her daughter, tried to silently reassure her that they were going to be alright. _This is very bad. We need daddy and mama; we need to get out of here, mummy._  

 _I can’t do anything, though… I can’t even scream,_ Clara replied, worry clouding her thoughts despite her intended optimism for her daughter’s sake. _I need one of them to-_

Even as she thought the words, the fabric was pulled from her mouth and Clara screamed as loudly as she could, the sound warm in her throat, before a hand connected brutally with the side of her face and stars erupted in her field of vision, her head spinning with the impact of the blow.

“Shut the fuck up,” the soldier who’d hit her snapped, and Clara looked up at him with some difficulty, feeling her cheek starting to swell and tasting iron in her mouth. “You’re Clara Oswald, yes?” 

“I…” she swallowed a mix of saliva and blood, then forced her voice not to waver as she spoke. “Yes.”

“How far gone are you?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she focused her eyes on his face, peering up at him in some confusion as to what he meant or why he would be asking her that question.

“How far gone are you in your pregnancy?” he reiterated slowly, his tone condescending as he looked at her with contempt. “Fuck me, they said you were bright.” 

Clara hesitated for half a second, trying to count, before he hit her again, harder this time, and she felt her nose crack and start to seep blood as her vision began to tilt. “Thirty weeks,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, before everything went black. 

When she awoke, it took her a moment to work out where she was and what had happened, before a throbbing pain in her cheek and jaw brought recollection back to her. 

 _Mummy,_ her daughter murmured with concern, nudging at her frantically. _Mummy, are you hurt?_  

 _No,_ she managed after a moment’s uncertainty. _I’m alright, we’re going to get out of here. We’re going to run. We’re going to find daddy, don’t worry._

She cast a quick look around, surprised to find the room empty, and got to her feet unsteadily, her hands still bound together behind her back and impacting on her balance. She took a few hasty steps towards the tunnel she had entered by, breaking into a laboured jog as she grew closer, and it was then that she heard a gun cocking behind her, and she turned to find the soldier who had assaulted her before, his weapon aimed squarely at her chest. 

“You dumb bitch,” he sneered. “You really think we’d let you go? We’ve got plans for you, sweetheart, and none of them involve you running and telling your little husband about us. Or indeed, you doing any running at all.” 

“Please,” Clara begged, feeling her blood turn to ice as she realised what was going to happen and deciding to try and appeal to his better nature out of sheer desperation to protect herself and her child. “Please, I’m just… please, my baby… you wouldn’t shoot a pregnant woman, surely…” 

“Watch me.” 

Almost in slow motion, she saw his finger curl around the trigger, and a blast of energy burst forth from the rifle, connecting with her shoulder in a bright flash of white. The pain burned through her, white-hot, taking her breath away as she screamed again, and she watched in abject yet oddly detached horror as blood began to pour down her arm, dripping onto the floor at her feet. 

“Get on your knees,” the soldier snarled, and Clara obeyed despite herself, her bluster and wit gone as she attempted to come to terms what was about to happen. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she wished, more than anything, that she could cup her bump one final time, wished that she could see her husband and wife once more, before she raised her head to look the soldier in the eye, determined not to let him see her fear, but instead to be brave in her final moments. “Ready to go meet mummy and daddy?” he asked her with a leer. 

“Fuck you,” Clara spat, and then offered, silently, to her daughter: _I’m sorry, I love you._

His finger caressed the trigger once more, and she closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Clara?” the Doctor’s voice was soft and full of concern. It made sense, she thought: the afterlife having a version of him to fuss over her, and she felt instantly calmer at the prospect of facing death with him at her side, be he a vision or not. The voice spoke again, more insistently: “Clara, you’re not dead, but can you open your eyes, sweetheart?” 

Confused, she opened them and took in her surroundings apprehensively: the med bay, a quiet background thrumming that indicated their location to be the vortex, and her husband and wife stood over her, their faces contorted with worry. Not dead, then. Definitely not dead, but this couldn’t be good – they were worried about her, why was that? She wasn’t dead, she was… It took a moment for her to realise why they were concerned, and then the pain hit her abruptly and she recalled the soldiers, the space station, and her injury. 

“We got you out,” River said quietly, bending down and placing a gentle, relieved kiss on Clara’s forehead. “We got you out before he could… he could…” 

“Who…” she managed, her split lip cracking with the effort of forming words, and she felt the Doctor’s hand on her temple, reading her words to save her from the pain of speaking aloud. 

“We don’t know,” he admitted with a discontented sigh. “Mercenaries of some kind, paid to kill you. Used the sonic to freeze his plasma rifle, materialised around you and got you out. Sadly, messing with the rifle had a small side effect.” His eyes hardened to an icy blue-grey, and she felt fear grip her. She knew that look. She knew what it represented – the darker side of his personality: the side that was glad someone had suffered for harming her, and was grateful someone had suffered for what they had done. She understood his sentiments, yet they frightened her nonetheless.

“It was a side effect of the ‘going boom’ variety,” River explained, with little apology in her tone. “So we couldn’t ask any questions, but at least the fuckers got their comeuppance.” 

“River!” the Doctor chided half-heartedly, but Clara could see in his eyes that he was relieved, no matter how much he hated himself for it. “We relocated your nose, and the swelling in your face is going down well, but your shoulder…” 

“It’s a bad wound,” River admitted, and Clara noticed how pale her wife had gone as she spoke. “We sedated you because… because you were screaming, and not the fun kind, but that’s how bad it was. We got some meds into you and tried to treat the worst of it, but it’s going to take a week or so to recover, so you’re on strict bed rest. Don’t even think about complaining it’s boring, because you nearly fucking died today, and I don’t ever want a repeat performance of that.” 

“Seconded,” the Doctor concurred, his hand stroking Clara’s hair reassuringly. “I know you’re going to hate it, but we’ll try to make it fun.” 

“How?” Clara managed after a moment, struggling to sit up a fraction, but her husband’s hands pushed her firmly back onto the bed. “How is that fun?” 

“We can give it a go, OK?” River promised her. “Starting with maybe taking you back to your own bed, yeah? It might be more comfortable for you.” 

Clara nodded, and seconds later she found herself swept into the Doctor’s arms, her head tucked against his chest. “Surprised you can still do this…” she quipped bravely, trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder, and he smiled down at her, attempting to conceal his worry.

“Not for much longer,” he joked, carrying her along the corridors of the TARDIS and then setting her tenderly down on her own bed, tucking the covers around her legs and ensuring she was comfortable. “Not if you keep growing so exponentially around the middle.”

“Sorry,” she remarked, with a tiny, pained smile, the agony of her injury flickering over her face. “Little one doesn’t wanna be all that little anymore.”

“Does it hurt a lot?” River interjected, loitering in the doorway, hyper-perceptive to her wife’s facial expressions. “Don’t even try to lie.” 

“Yeah,” Clara breathed, the discomfort robbing her of her voice, as the Doctor reached down to her with one hand outstretched to her temples, and she felt a spark pass between them before the cool embrace of unconsciousness overtook her.

 

* * *

 

When Clara next awoke, there was the soft sound of a guitar emanating from the foot of her bed, and she kept her eyes closed for a few minutes, enjoying the familiar song. When it was finished, she sat up slowly, taking in the sight of her husband sat cross-legged near her feet, his hand strumming across the strings absentmindedly as he hummed to himself under his breath. 

“Are you… are you playing Ed Sheeran?” she asked, and he jumped, his reverie broken by her words before a broad smile took over his face. 

“You’re awake!” he beamed, leaning down and kissing her forehead happily, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he spoke. “Took you long enough. Yes, it was dear old Ed. Lovely chap. Gave him a tattoo once.” 

“I… you… when did you… _you never take me anywhere fun,_ ” Clara grumbled at him good-naturedly, then sat up a little further, stretching each limb out in an experimental fashion and feeling a sense of relief that there was no pain in her shoulder. “Wait… how long was I out?” 

“Four days,” he mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze for a moment before looking up and grinning at her excitedly, keen to distract her. “But on the plus side, you’re mostly better, and I found out that our daughter likes music just as much as me.” 

“Four _days_?!” Clara reiterated with stupefaction, relieved to be recovered but disconcerted at having lost so much time. “How hard did you knock me out?!”

“Well…” he mumbled, chewing his lip as he spoke. “It was sort of a conditional… thing. It knocked you out until your cells had fully regenerated themselves.”

“I thought I didn’t regenerate!” Clara asked with a slight sense of panic, affixing her husband with a suspicious stare and silently urging him to tell the truth. “Don’t tell me I’ve changed my face or something…” 

“No, no face changing,” he assured her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it in a placating manner. “Don’t worry about that, Clara. Your cellular regeneration will just occur more rapidly. We couldn’t give you much in the way of painkillers because of little one, so a removal of consciousness seemed the best solution all round.” 

“Thanks,” she muttered, embarrassed to have complained. “Have you played guitar to me much?” 

 _Every day,_ came her daughter’s response immediately, along with a warm sense of contentment. _I like daddy playing guitar, it’s nice. Not that you_ heard _any_ _of it._

“You didn’t complain as much as you do when you’re awake,” he said with a wicked grin. “So I played quite a lot. Thought it might… oh, I don’t know. It was just an idea I had. River liked it too.”

“Where _is_ River?” Clara asked, looking around the room and realising they were alone together. “She hasn’t cleared off on a trip, has she? Because if so, I’m gonna be annoyed.” 

“No, no,” the Doctor said quickly, refusing to meet Clara’s gaze. “She’s just… look, we’ve been working on something. And we wanted it to be a surprise for later on, but I think now would be a good time to show you it, actually.” 

“You haven’t rebuilt the toaster again, have you? Because it bit me last time.” 

A smile played over her husband’s features as he responded. “No, we haven’t rebuilt the toaster. It’s much better than that.”

“Well, now I’m nervous…” she mused aloud, raising her eyebrows at him, but he only smiled at her fondly.

“Don’t be.”

He helped her out of bed with the utmost care, fussing over the now-defunct dressings on her shoulder, wrapping a dressing gown around her protectively and then leading her by the hand down the corridors of the TARDIS, stopping at last in front of a deep-blue door that Clara didn’t recall having seen before. Looking down at her with a nervous smile, he reached out a hand and pushed it open, leading her inside and watching her face as she took in the surroundings. 

The walls were painted in myriad shades of blue, pink and purple, swirled together, blending and separating in imitation of the gaseous whorls of a galaxy. Overlaying that were detailed, scale recreations of constellations in glittering silver paint, ranging from the familiar to the unfamiliar, and Clara spent several minutes trying to identify several of them from memory, before turning her attention upwards. She realised, after a moment, that the ceiling was carefully programmed to reflect the sky of her own planet, and that currently, it was cloudless and blue, with artificial sunlight casting a warm glow over meticulously-crafted white-painted furniture, as well as a crib at the centre of the room. 

Clara took half a step towards it, and then circled it reverently, trailing one finger over the midnight-blue wood, taking in the tiny, soft mattress with matching sheets, the mobile made from miniature stars, and at the foot of the cot, a neatly-folded patchwork pink quilt. Whirls of Gallifreyan writing embossed the headboard, and Clara knew enough to recognise her name alongside River and the Doctor’s, and she looked to him with tears in her eyes. 

“You made this?” she asked, her voice catching a little in awe. “You made all of this?” 

“Yes,” he affirmed simply, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets as he attempted to downplay the effort he had put in. “For our little one.” 

River stepped into the room then, clad in denim dungarees speckled with paint, a streak adorning her cheek as she smiled at her wife with relief. “I helped,” she added, taking Clara’s hand and pointing to the walls with their intertwined fingers. “The galaxy colour scheme was my idea… _he_ just wanted plain white, but I wanted her to have something beautiful to see when she goes to sleep.” 

“Did… did you make the quilt?” Clara asked, reaching down to pick it up and running her fingertips over the fabric reverently, feeling an inexplicable pull to the item, as well as a sudden sense of familiarity and comfort. 

“No,” River admitted shyly, stepping back to allow her husband to speak. “That one… I’ll let him explain.”

“That,” he said softly, putting his arm around Clara’s waist as he spoke. “Was made by your mother, for a church fayre in 1984. She told me that your father helped her to pick out the fabrics, and put together the pattern. She said she hoped my daughter would love it as much as she’d loved making it.”

“I…” Clara began, putting her hand over her mouth and fighting back tears at the simple, thoughtful gesture. “It’s beautiful…” she whispered after a moment, setting the quilt back down and turning to face her wife and husband, holding her arms out to them, and they embraced warmly.

“We wanted things to be perfect…” the Doctor told her bashfully, the tips of his ears turning pink as he did so, and Clara smiled at him lovingly, reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“They are,” she promised him. “Oh, they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, the song Twelve plays Clara is "Photograph."


	22. My Unmade Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the incident aboard the space station, the Doctor has limited Clara to staying in the TARDIS, keeping her and the baby safely out of harm's way. But of course, Clara Oswald has never been one for following orders... and when the Doctor goes away, she decides to take the TARDIS on a little joyride...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the next couple of chapters due to... well, you'll see.
> 
> Chapter title from "Small Bump" by Ed Sheeran.

“Doctor, this is ridiculous,” Clara whined for the millionth time that week. “ _Why_ do I have to stay in the TARDIS? If I have to stay here, you should stay here too, it’s not fair that you get to go off and have fun while I’m stuck in here like a beached whale.” 

“Clara,” he said patiently, looking at her with a level of concern that only served to infuriate her further. “We’ve had this discussion-” 

“Doesn’t mean I agree with it…” she muttered sulkily, scowling at him and cupping her bump, running her thumb over the taut skin.

“We don’t know what those mercenaries wanted…” he paused, and had Clara not been so intent in her fury she would have noted the slight twinge of guilt in his eyes at the lie. “But they probably have a big scary boss, and I can’t go letting their big scary boss near my wife.” 

“Particularly not,” River added, scaling the stairs to them lithely, which seemed unnecessarily like showing off to Clara. “When that wife is forty-two weeks pregnant, and the approximate size of a continent.” 

Clara’s scowl only deepened at her wife’s words. “So can’t we just go someplace… I don’t know, _boring_?” 

“The last place we went to that was ‘boring,’” the Doctor reminded her. “Was that planet with the sentient rocks, and you were so bored that you forgot this fact, and tried to play Kick the Stone. I seem to recall you nearly lost three toes, and your toenails went grey for a week.” 

“Livened it up though, didn’t it?” Clara said with a smirk, and her husband rolled his eyes at her sheer incorrigibility. 

“I’m literally just doing a favour for an old friend. It’ll take a couple of hours, tops.” He assured her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently, hoping to reassure her and allay some of her worries. 

Clara narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “TARDIS hours, or Venutian hours?”

“For you, it’ll be a couple of hours. For me, maybe a few days,” he took in Clara’s stricken expression, and felt his resolve waver, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I promise, I’ll be careful.” 

“You better be,” she grumbled, trying to fight back unbidden tears. “Because I don’t fancy raising a little Scottish baby with a gangly, newly-regenerated Time Lord. You’d probably drop her.” 

“Would not!” he bantered, frowning at her. “I’m a tip-top dad. My dad skills are unparalleled.” 

“Shut up,” Clara muttered, casting her eyes to the floor and flinging her arms around him. “I’m trying to say, don’t regenerate because I’m fond of you. You prat.” 

“Oh,” he realised, with a rush of affection. “Well, I’m quite fond of you too, bump and all, so don’t go doing anything too drastic. If I find out your waters have broken in the Eye of Harmony, I will be less than impressed.” 

“Got it.” Clara promised him, eyes wide and innocent as she spoke, forcing herself to look as compliant as possible. “Nothing strenuous.” 

“And no side trips to planets. I can’t make assurances as to the state of local midwifery in this system, they might not recognise a humanoid newborn. So no running off to ludicrous places, because with our impeccable sense of timing, you’ll end up delivering our daughter in a swamp.” 

“I _get it,_ ” Clara repeated impatiently. “No going AWOL; sit in the TARDIS and do some knitting.” 

“Or, more interesting plan: make out with me…” River mused, casting a wicked look at Clara, who raised one eyebrow at her wife. 

“Darling,” Clara gave her a long look. “You can’t currently reach my face due to… well, general all-round hugeness. Plus, if you touch my boobs right now, I will probably cheerfully slap you.” 

“Is that a promise?” River purred, and the Doctor rolled his eyes at the pair of them. 

“Just please don’t do anything rash,” he said with a groan. “Please. For the sake of my sanity. I have a duty of care – don’t go running off and _don’t go into labour._ ” 

"Running off is your prerogative,” Clara reminded him with a grin. “And the other part… well, biology is biology. Now, go on, idiot, or you’ll be late.” She pulled herself up – with some considerable difficulty – from her chair and traversed the short distance between herself and her husband, plonking herself down on his lap. 

“You know,” he mused aloud, raising his eyebrows skywards. “That that’s not entirely conducive to me leaving.” 

“I know,” Clara murmured, nuzzling her head into his chest and listening to the reassuring double beat of his hearts. “It’s just the only way I can get close enough to do this.” With that, she leant up and kissed him gently, hearing his heartrate accelerate infinitesimally and smiling to herself. “Be safe.”

 _Daddy,_ came the tiny silent voice from her abdomen. _Daddy, be careful. I’ll look after mummy._  

“I know you will, little one,” he whispered, stroking his palm over Clara’s bump lovingly. “You be a good girl for mummy.” He pressed a single, feather light kiss to his wife’s forehead and then stood, helping her to her feet as he did so. “Now, River… you’re in charge.” 

“OK, sweetie,” River grinned, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing him goodbye with a smile. “I’ll take good care of her. I promise.” 

“You ladies be good now,” he said sternly, pulling on his maroon velvet jacket and then crossing the room to the doors. “All three of you.” 

“We will,” River assured him. “Now, go on. You’ve got a planet to save.” 

“I love you,” the Time Lord said softly. “My girls.” 

Clara smiled at him, and then with a quiet sigh, he had turned and left the TARDIS, closing the doors quietly behind him. 

“Well,” Clara said, grimacing slightly in the wake of his departure. “I don’t know about you, but I could murder a cup of-” 

“I’ll go and make us one.” Her wife capitulated with an eye roll, and Clara waited until River had disappeared into the warren of corridors before crossing to the console and running her hands over it lovingly, crooning to it under her breath. 

“Now, old girl…” she whispered. “Come on, how about it? One last hurrah before baby comes…” 

The TARDIS beeped at her in a somewhat disapproving manner. 

“Don’t be like that,” Clara said crossly in her best teacher voice, trying to programme a location but finding the time machine uncooperative, the screen flashing at her in Gallifreyan. “That’s just unfair of you.” 

She reached over and ran her finger over the switch the Doctor had shown her once, the one he had flicked insistently into the _on_ position after the incident on the space station. It controlled, the Doctor had explained to her, the system that was the TARDIS equivalent of putting the child locks on: it prevented the ship from taking off or landing anywhere too dangerous. It had seemed – to him at least – a logical function to use after her brush with paid killers, but now… now for Clara it was an impediment, preventing her from taking off at all. _Stupid sentient time machine,_ Clara thought to herself bitterly. _You’re no fun._  

 _Mummy,_ came a tiny voice. _Mummy, you promised-_

Clara flicked the switch, and the TARDIS’s screen went momentarily black, before the message “Safeguard Navigational System: Disengaged,” was displayed in red letters, and she grinned triumphantly. 

“There,” she murmured to the console. “Now, let’s be good and stay within the system at least. No point causing the old man too much high blood pressure.” 

She programmed a set of coordinates and then disengaged the handbrake with a small, self-satisfied smirk, feeling them land and then waddling –she could no longer dispute, much to her chagrin, the fact that she had been reduced to a waddle – to the doors and looking out at their surroundings. A rich forest greeted her, and she stepped outside, feeling a small surge of contentment as she looked around the clearing in which they had landed and marvelling at its beauty. Giant iridescent dragonflies danced through the air, and there was a rich smell of damp earth and blossom, sunlight dappling through the leaves and warming her skin for the first time in weeks. 

“Clara?!” River’s voice cut through the tranquillity of the glade like a knife, and Clara turned to see her wife stood in the doorway of the TARDIS, two mugs of tea held aloft as she gaped at their location. “You… you… you’ve _gone for a bloody joyride!”_  

“So what if I have?” Clara said cockily. “Come on. It’s nice here, look! Can’t we just go for a quick explore? Please?” she turned her gaze on River, her eyes widening beseechingly, and with a resigned sigh, her wife nodded once in resignation. 

“Fine. But we don’t tell the old man, and if he _does_ find out, it was your idea and I was dragged out under duress.” 

“You worry too much,” Clara rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Ditch the tea, come on out – the sun is gorgeous.”

Carefully, River placed the two mugs on the console room floor and then stepped outside, locking the TARDIS behind her before taking Clara’s hand in hers and running her thumb over the back of it. “There’s something gorgeous in this clearing,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “And it’s not the sunlight.” 

“You charmer,” Clara said dryly, and River crossed the mossy floor to wrap her arms around her wife from behind, planting a gentle kiss on Clara’s neck and resting her hands on the bump. “So flattering to my whale-self.” 

“Well, you do look especially cute,” River assured her with a small smile. “So… shall we walk? Well, I’ll walk, you can waddle or roll. You set the pace.”

“Mm…” Clara sighed contentedly stretching her arms out in front of her. “Walking would be good, actually. I’ve been stuck inside for so bloody long…” 

“Because hubby is worried about you. So am I. So is baby. I’m a rubbish psychic – bit like you, really – but even I can hear her.” 

“Rude,” Clara said chidingly, looking into the forest and discerning a faint path, before setting out to follow it determinedly. “You don’t all need to worry about me, I’m fine, I’m capable of doing things. I’m pregnant, not ill.”

“We have a-” 

“Duty of care, I know,” Clara groaned, already bored of the phrase. “I get it.” 

“You know…” River said delicately, after a few long moments of walking in silence. “You kind of have one to the baby… and this isn’t very…” 

Clara felt her temper flare immediately at the suggestion, and she rounded on her wife furiously. “She isn’t at risk!” she snarled. “Neither of us are at fucking risk, this isn’t your body or your baby, this is _nothing to do with you,_ so how dare you insinuate that I might be putting her at harm? It’s _just a planet,_ for fuck sake! I’m allowed to visit a goddamn planet, so _go fuck yourself._ ” 

With that, she angrily stormed off through the greenery, striking a winding, irregular path away from her wife, wanting nothing more than to be alone as she cursed River, cursed the TARDIS, cursed her slow progress through the forest, but felt a small stab of pride that she was, at least, making _some_ progress, no matter how limited. 

 _Mummy,_ her daughter said insistently, interrupting her angry thoughts. _Mummy, I-_

“Don’t you bloody start and all,” Clara snapped gruffly, swiping her hand over her eyes to dislodge the angry tears that had formed there. “You know I love you.”

 _Yes, but there’s…_  

Clara yanked aside a curtain of foliage irately, preparing to reply, but instead found herself in the centre of a group of… well, she wasn’t certain what they were. They looked vaguely humanoid, but they appeared to be made from sinewy wood and green shoots, and each of them turned to look at her with malice in their eyes, one of them raising something that looked worryingly like a gun and levelling it at her head. _Ah,_ she thought to herself. _Definitely not friendly, then._  

“Who dares to violate the Sacred Pilgrimage of Cho?” it asked her in a gravelly voice, and Clara felt fear grip her at the word _violate,_ which in her experience had never been followed by anything good. 

“I…” she managed after a moment, one hand cupping her bump as she cursed herself for her stupidity, for her failure to check this planet’s customs before landing. “I didn’t mean to… it was an accident, please…”

“Seize her,” ordered a second creature, and two of them grabbed her by the arms, their hands gripping her tightly. “We should deal with this one suitably… Cast her into the ravine, we need to be on our way. That will teach her respect for our ways.” 

“Rav… ravine?” Clara repeated, her voice shrill with terror as she considered the prospect of falling, and the impact, and the baby, _oh god the baby._ She offered a silent prayer to all the gods she could think of, and it was then that River crashed through the undergrowth, coming to a nervous, terrified halt as she surveyed the situation, her eyes meeting Clara’s and seeing her own terror mirrored therein.

“Who are you?” River asked the gathering, in a voice more confident than she felt. “What do you want?” 

“We are the Order of Cho,” explained the first creature, gesturing to Clara dismissively. “This… thing interrupted us on our sacred journey, and she will be punished accordingly.” 

“Punished?” River enquired, shooting a panicked glance at her wife and the beings that held her. “Punished how?”

“We have little time to dispense justice,” said the second creature impatiently, nodding at the two holding Clara, who marched her across to the far side of the clearing. “She will be cast aside to consider her crime.”

“Cast… aside…?” River reiterated uncertainly, as Clara’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the forest and she looked down at the ravine that opened up at her feet, feeling panic rolling over her in waves, her unborn child’s terror merging with hers and stealing the air from her lungs. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t really be a thing that was going to happen, surely? River would do something clever, and they would go back to the TARDIS and forget that this had ever happened…

“Cast aside,” reiterated the first creature curtly, and before Clara could respond, before River could do anything to impede them, the two beings holding Clara had shoved her unceremoniously over the edge, and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Clara opened her eyes with some difficulty, focusing them on the canopy above her and wondering why it seemed so far away from her. She had been in the forest, and the trees had not been so… 

A memory – dim and disconnected – came to her of falling, and she remembered with a jolt that she had been thrown over the edge of a precipice. _Ah,_ she thought to herself with a curious calmness. _That’s why everything is so far away._ _At least nothing hurts. Every cloud._

“Clara?” River’s face appeared in her field of vision, unscathed but for a long graze down her left cheek, worry evident in her expression. “Clara, can you hear me?” 

“Yeah,” she asserted after a few seconds of gathering her thoughts, and River smiled a little then, relieved by this small nugget of information. “What happened?”

“You pissed off the locals,” her wife said, her forced jovial tone failing to hide the fear in her voice. “And they chucked you down here. Good thing there’s all these dead leaves, really, or you’d be kind of up shit creek. I’m still not overly sure you haven’t actually broken anything though, so don’t move about too much.” 

“What happened to your face?” 

“I reciprocally pissed off the locals, then climbed down here to get you.” River said coolly, but Clara could see that there was something she wasn’t telling her, something that could only be bad. 

“What?” she asked nervously, moistening her lips with her tongue. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“We can’t get out,” River confessed, after a long pause. “The sides are too steep. Climbing _down_ ten feet is fine. Climbing _up_ ten feet… _I_ couldn’t do it, there’s no way you can.” 

“Oh,” Clara said softly, frowning a little as she considered their options, feeling something nagging at her memory but trying to brush it aside as she attempted to form a plan. “Well, that’s fine, isn’t it? The TARDIS can materialise around us.”

“No, Clara,” River said quietly, her voice hollow. “When you switched off the safeguards, you disengaged that handy little feature. She’ll only materialise for the Doctor now… but not for anyone else.” 

“So… we’re fucked?” Clara asked, feeling surprisingly calm at the prospect of being trapped in a shallow ravine on an alien planet for an indeterminable amount of time. “That’s the gist of this, right?” 

“Basically.” River wouldn’t meet her eye as she spoke, her voice laden with sarcasm: “Well done.” 

“Fuck you,” Clara responded with little malice, feeling worry gnawing at the edge of her consciousness but attempting to act more bravely than she felt, for her wife’s sake. “Look, the TARDIS is smart, she’ll go and get the Doctor, and he’ll come and find us. It’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah,” River said, her tone suggesting she was unconvinced by Clara’s words. “I guess.” 

Clara sighed in irritation. “Can you stop being such a pessimist? This could be way worse. I’m not even in any pain. How lucky is that?”

“It’s not luck,” River admitted, chewing on her lip as she spoke. “I had a first aid kit. Your spine is badly bruised – I don’t _think_ it’s broken – and you’re a bit bashed up, so I administered a pain patch.” 

“Oh,” Clara said weakly, before the confusion of the last few minutes cleared and she felt realisation dawn, panic and guilt consuming her – _how could I have forgotten something so important?_  “The baby. Oh god, is the baby OK?” 

“She’s fine,” River told her reassuringly, forcing herself to smile. “I think. Moving about, from what I could feel. You’ve been out a while, but she’s been wriggling away, you probably can’t feel her because of the pain patch.” 

“Oh,” Clara said again, casting her mind down to meet her daughter’s consciousness. “Hey, little one.” 

 _Mummy,_ came her daughter’s thoughts, uncharacteristically subdued. _Mummy, I-_

There was an abrupt silence, and Clara felt a spreading warmth across the front of her jeans, along with a sudden horrible comprehension of what was about to happen, with flawlessly impractical timing.

“Shit,” she muttered, closing her eyes and squeezing back tears at the prospect of giving birth _here,_ deep in an unknown forest, without her husband at her side. “Not now…” 

“Clara,” River said, her voice little more than a terrified squeak. “Clara…” 

“I know,” she said with resignation, trying to force herself to stay calm. “I know, it’s early and it’s bad timing, but we can-” 

“ _Clara_!” River reiterated with horror, and Clara looked down to her lap and felt her heart stop.

The patch spreading across the denim was deep crimson.


	23. Space Travel's In Her Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped, bleeding, and terrified, what Clara really needs is the Doctor. Instead, her and River have to keep their wits about them, because like it or not, their daughter wants to make an early appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, that was a nasty cliffhanger, wasn't it? ;)
> 
> Chapter title from "Another Girl, Another Planet" by The Only Ones.

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Clara asked, beginning to hyperventilate as she contemplated the growing crimson stain spreading across her jeans, trying to deny the situation at hand in the desperate hope that she might be mistaken. 

“I…” River closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, knowing she needed to stay calm for Clara’s sake but falling somewhat short. “OK, you must have landed badly, and gone into… I didn’t… shit, it’s too soon, Clara, this can’t be happening…” 

“I _know_ it’s too soon,” her wife snapped, trying not to panic at the thought of her daughter making her entrance to the world four weeks early, but equally trying not to think of the other, infinitely bleaker scenario that was at risk of becoming reality. “Fuck, fuck, why did I think this stupid joyride was a good idea? Idiot, idiot, idiot…” 

“Clara, we can ask rhetorical questions later,” River said, forcing herself to be pragmatic and take control of the situation for the sake of Clara and the baby. “In the meantime, we need to actually do something practical, so I’m going to take the pain patch off.” 

“Are you fucking _insane_?” Clara asked, her tone unintentionally harsh as she stared at River, aghast by her suggestion. “Oh, great, take off the pain patch, then I can _feel my baby die._ ” 

“She’s not dying,” River said firmly, with forced optimism, determined not to show Clara how scared she was but equally determined to bolster both of their spirits. “I think she just wants to make an early arrival with a nice dramatic entrance. Much like her mother. Who am I kidding, much like her father as well. Much like all three of us. Living up to the good old family name, eh?” 

“River.” 

“Nervous talker, sorry,” River flushed crimson and bit her tongue, trying to ready herself for what was about to happen and silently apologising for the pain that Clara was about to suffer. “Right. Pain patch. Pain patch. Oh god, I’m pre-emptively sorry, OK?” 

“I’ll try to remember that in five minutes,” Clara said dryly, gritting her teeth before River ripped the patch away from her neck and agonising pain shot through her abdomen, forcing the air from her lungs and wrenching a scream from deep within her. “ _Fuck._ Oh, fucking… _fuck._ ” 

“So, like all those books say, can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten…?” River questioned helplessly, as Clara threw her head back and yelled in agony, temporarily unable to form a recognisable word, let alone vocalise a pain level. 

“About a twelve,” she managed after a few seconds of panting, sweat beginning to bead on her brow as she gripped onto River’s hand tightly. “Fuck, _fuck_ … this can’t be good, this can’t be normal…”

“Clara, you can do this,” River said firmly, pushing Clara’s hair back off her forehead and wiping the sweat away with her sleeve. “You can definitely do this, you’re both going to be fine. I promise you that.”

“I don’t…” Clara cried out again, shorter this time, pain contorting her features as she tried to string her thoughts together into sentences and convey what she needed to say. She gripped onto River’s hand tightly, their eyes locking together as Clara emphasised one crucial point before the pain overwhelmed her again: “I don’t give a single fuck about me, you have to look after her, OK? River, promise me that.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her wife said in a no-nonsense tone, breaking eye contact so she could move around Clara and begin to peel her bloodied jeans off. “You’re _both_ going to be fine, I’m not going to lose either of you. Nuh-uh. I refuse. No deal.” 

“You might not…” Clara groaned, gritting her teeth against the pain as she fought to get her point across to her wife. “You might not get to make that choice, and so if that happens, I want you to _save her._ ” 

“Clara…”

“I can’t hear her, OK? She’s gone silent,” Clara confided, as the reality of the situation overwhelmed her: her baby had become inaudible and intangible, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she processed what that could mean. Her daughter – whose words had been there, quietly, in her head for the last twenty-two weeks – had ceased talking, ceased feeling; Clara could neither hear nor sense anything from her, and the desperation in her eyes broke River’s heart. “Please. Just get her out. Get her the hell out and look after her, please.”

“Clara, I don’t… I don’t have anything to use…” River admitted, placing one hand gently on Clara’s distended abdomen and offering a silent prayer for both her wife and the infant’s wellbeing, trying desperately to formulate a plan of action based on her cursory glances at the pregnancy books Clara had studied so diligently. 

“You said you had a – _fuck,_ ” Clara paused, pain robbing her of her words momentarily. “First aid kit… So, pointy things. First aid kits have pointy things. That’s sort of the idea.” 

“It was just pain relief and hand sanitiser,” River offered, her tone apologetic as she realised how badly she was failing her wife in this moment of need. “A travel pack. That’s all I’ve got, Clara, I can’t do anything else, I can only numb things for you…” 

“Don’t you dare,” Clara spat. “Because god help me, I’m praying that somewhere inside me there’s an instinct or _something_ that’s going to kick in and so I need to feel it, I need to know the moment I need to push, so _no more pain patches._ ” 

“OK,” River said softly, holding up her hands in quiet acquiescence to Clara’s will, sighing in submission. “No numbing it is, it’s OK.” 

“Besides,” Clara continued in a gentler tone, already feeling guilty for snapping but trying to hold herself together long enough to appear brave. “If this is it, I’d really like to go out fighting, without the soft option.” 

“Clara,” River whispered, her voice cracking a little at the prospect. “Clara, pain relief isn’t the soft option… and you’re _not going to die._ ” 

“River,” Clara mimicked her wife’s style of speech, looking up at her and attempting to appear more courageous than she felt. “Pain relief might not be the soft option, but right now, it’s going to fuck up my impulses, so if this is the end of me, I’m going to fight for her life, got it? No argu- _fuck, fucking fuck._ ” 

“I’m not arguing,” River concurred, finally succeeding in freeing Clara from her jeans and using the moment to wipe treacherous tears from her eyes, before trying for a lighter tone to distract both of them a little from the grim reality at hand. “Why the hell did you wear skinny jeans when pregnant? Terrible life decision there, Oswald. Horribly impractical.” 

“Sorry I didn’t plan this,” Clara said with false exasperation, laughing a little breathlessly before a contraction tore through her and she groaned loudly in pain. “Jesus wept, _I am never doing this again._ ” 

“The skinnies or the baby thing?” River quipped, and Clara raised her head enough to give her a long look.

“The baby thing. Now, can you maybe stop procrastinating and find out how dilated I am?” Clara asked, and River rolled her eyes, glad to know that even in the height of childbirth, Clara’s control freak tendencies did not wane. 

“Alright, bossy…” she pulled Clara’s sodden underwear off, then parted her wife’s legs and tried to ignore the thick, dark blood that was staining her thighs. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, uncertain how to continue, desperate not to cause Clara any further pain, but knowing equally that she needed to appraise the situation to work out how to continue. 

“Come on,” Clara urged softly, before catching sight of River’s expression and attempting a stab at humour to lighten the mood: “Seriously, you’re never normally this reticent about sticking your fingers in me.” 

“You’re never normally bleeding,” River mumbled, blushing slightly, before she remembered something crucial. “Shit, I should probably…” she fumbled through her pockets and found a tiny bottle of hand sanitiser, splashing it liberally onto her hands and rubbing them together in a feeble attempt at scrubbing up. 

“Great, so now this is going to _sting,_ on top of literally feeling like I’m going to die. Worst experience of getting fingered _ever_ ,” Clara groaned, before the grin was wiped off her face by another contraction. “ _FUCK,_ please get a move on, things don’t feel so good…” 

“I…” River hesitated again, and Clara swore under her breath, angry tears clouding her eyes as she scowled at her wife. 

“For fuck sake, you can _do this_.” She snapped, and River nodded before moving her hand between Clara’s legs, causing her wife to inhale sharply.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked with concern, trying to concentrate and remember what the birthing book had said, but her eyes stayed fixed on Clara’s face, which inexplicably broke into a mischievous grin. 

“No, your hands are cold,” she breathed, chuckling before throwing her head back and swearing loudly as a contraction took hold. “What’s the situation feeling like?”

“Urm, I think you’re about six centimetres,” River said uncertainly, withdrawing her hand and wiping it on Clara’s already-ruined jeans. “I guess you must have started having contractions when you landed down here… guess I should refresh my first aid skills, my bad.” 

“It’s OK,” Clara murmured, taking her wife’s clean hand in her own and squeezing reassuringly, eager to allay River’s guilt. “This isn’t your fault. We can do this. We can totally do this. We can – _fucking fuck everything, FUCK.”_  

“Never known a schoolteacher to have such a dirty mouth as you,” River teased, pressing a light kiss to Clara’s forehead in lieu of having anything more helpful to do. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Yeah, well, you try shoving a small human out of yourself, we’ll see how eloquent you are then…” Clara muttered, closing her eyes against the pain and taking a deep breath. “Look, don’t take this personally, but god I wish _he_ was here.”

“Me too,” River agreed, sighing despondently as she stroked Clara’s hair. “He’d know what to do, he’d know how to help… he wouldn’t be anywhere near as useless as me…” 

“Hey,” Clara said tenderly, frowning a little at her wife. “You’re not useless. You’re doing pretty damn well, to be honest.”

“Really?” River asked, and Clara laughed, the sound unanticipated but warming River’s heart. “Hey! What’s funny?”

“This is,” her wife said simply, with a small smile. “I thought _you_ were meant to reassure _me_ , not the other way around. But you’re doing great though. Promise.” 

“You’re not doing so badly yourself,” River teased, leaning down to kiss Clara’s cheek. “Aside from all the cursing.” 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut. “It really hurts.” 

“Not doubting that for a minute,” River assured her, patting her on the shoulder as she did so. “My poor Clara. You can-” 

Clara threw her head back and screamed again, more loudly this time, the tone raw and animalistic as the noise was ripped from her vocal chords against her will, her cry of pain an involuntary expression of her body’s suffering. When River looked down she saw a fresh trickle of blood pooling on the leaves between Clara’s legs, and she felt her hearts stop, terror paralysing her and robbing her of the ability to breathe. _No,_ she prayed. _Please, god, no, please, we need a miracle, or I’m going to lose them both…_  

As the scream died on Clara’s lips, the ravine was filled with a joyously welcome sound, and _gods be praised,_ there he was, stepping from the TARDIS and crossing the distance between them in long strides, appraising the situation with a cool expression that concealed the terror he felt rising in his chest.

“Clara?” the Doctor said at once, concern filling his voice, and she looked up at him in relief, seizing his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. “Oh, love. Oh god, I did tell you not to go into labour.” 

“Can we….” She groaned, gripping down on his hand so tightly he felt the bones grind beneath the skin. “Can we not do this now? Maybe? Could we possibly wait ‘til later?” 

“Agreed,” he capitulated, looking to River with a sense of urgency as he rolled up his sleeves in readiness. “What happened? What’s happen _ing_?” 

“She… she fell down here, passed out. I put on a pain patch and her contractions must have started, but then she started bleeding…” 

“Bleeding?” he let go of Clara’s hand abruptly and moved between her legs, took in – for the first time – the scarlet staining her thighs and the sodden jeans that had been cast aside. “Oh, Rassilon…” 

“Is it bad?” Clara asked, her tone childlike and afraid as she looked at him with wide eyes, trusting him to make things right, trusting him to help her and live up to his namesake.

“No…” he lied, but she could see the truth in his expression, and in that moment she transcended her panic and felt herself grow abruptly calm, her breathing and heartrate slowing as she focused on the task at hand, readying herself for what she knew she needed to do. 

“How dilated is she?” the Doctor asked River, who only stammered in response, thrown off by his sudden appearance and the relief of being absolved of her duties. 

“Six centimetres,” Clara informed him, when River’s answer was not forthcoming. “Ish. I don’t know. Maybe more.”

“Well, you need to push,” the Doctor told her, and she looked at him in horror. “Clara, you’re probably already much more dilated than that, especially if you managed to dilate six centimetres that rapidly. You _need to push. Now._ ” 

“Should we get her into the TARDIS?” River asked, looking around at their far-from-ideal surroundings. “Get hot water, towels…?” 

“There’s no time,” he murmured, his voice gruff. “We can sort everything after, we just… we need to do this, and we need to do this _now_.” He cast off his jacket and laid it between Clara’s legs, then took a deep, fortifying breath. “Clara, love, you need to push.” 

“I don’t know how!” she protested, but he took her hand in his and squeezed gently, offering non-verbal reassurance. 

“Yes, you do. Your body knows how to do this, OK? Your species has evolved the ability to do this. On the next contraction, push.” 

Clara nodded at him in mute terror before closing her eyes, awaiting the now-familiar pain and then embracing it, bearing down, allowing her body to take over as her brain disengaged. She was dimly aware of the Doctor letting go of her hand, of River’s replacing it, and she panted as she contraction passed, throwing her head back and trying to catch her breath. 

“That was excellent,” the Doctor told her, placing one hand on her thigh and stroking reassuringly. “Good girl. Another one of those and we’ll have her head.” 

Clara groaned as the next contraction hit her, pushing as hard as she could and praying with every fibre of her being for her daughter’s health as she swore under her breath with the exertion. 

“The head’s here!” River said with surprising calmness, as though this were a normal birth in a hospital and the past few hours hadn’t happened, before wiping the sweat from Clara’s brow tenderly. “Come on, Clara, you can do this!”

Another contraction, this time stronger than before, her muscles clenching and her blood pounding in her ears.

One last push, all excruciating agony and drawn-out screams of effort, a final wordless scream of unbridled pain and emotion. 

A slippery rush, and then the longest silence in the world. 

A tiny, mewling cry, growing stronger by the second, and Clara felt her heart soar, reaching out instinctively as the Doctor smiled and wrapped the infant in his coat, passing the newborn to Clara with the utmost care and affection, leaning forward to kiss her forehead with pride. 

“Our daughter,” he said thickly, his eyes full of tears as he looked down at his exhausted but triumphant wife. “Clara, our daughter.” 

Clara cradled the small child as she looked down at her in wonder, the tiny baby falling silent as Clara drank in the sight of her: wide hazel eyes, a shock of dark hair, and a mouth already turned up into a perfect cupid’s pout. But the nose…

“She has your nose,” she managed, reaching down to take her daughter’s hand, smiling at her with adoration. “But the rest…”

“The rest is pure you,” he agreed with a small chuckle, stroking his daughter’s cheek gently and watching as she pouted in response. “Luckily.” 

“Shut up,” Clara mumbled, and it was then that she felt her daughter’s familiar presence in her mind once again: a rush of love; a vision of her own face projected back to her; and the word _mummy_ repeated like a mantra _._ “Hey,” she whispered, pride filling her as she looked down at the little one in her arms. “Yes, that’s me, little one. I’m your mummy. Hello.” 

“So,” River said, feeling a touch self-conscious at the prospect of breaking the spell the couple were under, watching as the Doctor used the sonic to cut the umbilical cord. She forced a cheerful smile and bright tone: “Have you got a name all picked out yet?” 

“Yeah,” Clara said, looking to the Doctor for silent confirmation and receiving a nod in return. “I was thinking… Emma Eleanor Amelia.”

“Amelia?” River asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

“After your mother,” Clara explained, rolling her eyes at her wife’s failure to comprehend their careful decision. “And Eleanor after mine.” 

“That’s…” River beamed widely, touched by the gesture. “That’s a lovely name, thank you. And I’m guessing you’re double-barrelling the last names?” 

“Oswald-Smith,” the Doctor said decisively, nodding at Clara before returning his gaze to their daughter. “Definitely.” 

River bit back a sudden, unanticipated surge of disappointment that they had omitted her surname from Emma’s name, knowing that they had honoured her already with the inclusion of Amelia, but still unable to shake a sense of being overlooked. She had always had a quiet fear that she would feel this way come the child’s arrival – like she had no place in being here, like she was barely connected to the baby at all – but now, somehow, the reality of the situation had exacerbated her feelings of being out of place, and she struggled to control her emotions as she looked over at the happy family. 

“That’s nice,” she said measuredly, unwilling to show the Doctor or Clara how she felt for fear of ruining their special moment, fighting back tears that threatened to spill treacherously down her cheeks. “I’m going to… I’ll leave you guys alone to get to know her, I think that’s what’s important now. Parental bonding time.” She stood up abruptly and made her way over to the TARDIS before either of them could protest, disappearing inside as the Doctor and Clara looked to each other in consternation, the Doctor’s face etched with worry.

“That was…” he began, but Clara interrupted him almost immediately, understanding her wife’s problem at once. 

“I think she’s going to find this hard,” she counselled quietly, looking up at him with sadness in her eyes, coupled with a tiny spark of hope. “Because she’s not necessarily directly related to Emma. So we need to make a real effort, OK? Make sure she’s not left out of things, make sure she bonds with her.” 

“We can do that,” the Doctor agreed, reaching over to stroke Emma’s cheek with his fingertip and sighing softly. “I want her to feel included, I want her to love Emma, because… well, Clara, she’s perfect.” 

“I’m sure she will,” Clara acquiesced, resting her head on his shoulder. “But… well, are you sure Emma’s OK? She’s not got anything wrong? She _is_ premature, after all… I don’t know whether with the Gallifreyan in her…” Clara chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated her daughter, afraid to know the answer yet knowing she must, worried about the impending appraisal the Doctor would offer. 

“She’s a little small, but she did decide to make a surprise early appearance,” the Doctor said tenderly, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on her forehead. “Other than that, she’s just fine. Worried about you, mainly.” 

“Me?!” Clara wondered, looking to her husband incredulously before turning her gaze back to the tiny infant in her arms, watching as Emma yawned. “Why’s she worried about me?! She’s the one who nearly… nearly…” 

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking through her dark thoughts and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, drawing her tighter against his side so that she could seek physical reassurance. “But she _didn’t_. You’re both OK.” 

“Why’d she go silent?” Clara asked him, worry still undercutting her voice as she sought answers. “Earlier, she went silent.” 

“She was a little busy,” he said with a small chuckle, reaching down to stroke their daughter’s hair. “Making her premature appearance. Speaking of which, I _did_ tell you not to go wandering off…” 

“I’m sorry,” Clara mumbled, before she realised something else important that she needed to apologise for. “Oh god, your coat!” 

“What about my coat?” the Doctor looked at Clara in confusion, and she gestured down to their daughter, bundled up safely in the maroon velvet, one of her tiny hands resting on the soft satin lining as she dozed. 

“I sort of… had a baby on it,” Clara said contritely, rocking Emma a little as she spoke. “Sorry about that, my bad.” 

“Clara,” her husband grinned at her, kissing her hair in amusement as he smiled down at their baby. “I think, for now, she needs it more than I do.”


	24. Made From Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their daughter's somewhat stressful arrival into the world, things have only grown more complicated for the Doctor, Clara, and River. Faced with issues of parental rights, self esteem and belonging, can they work together to overcome their issues for Emma's sake? Or will things crumble irrevocably?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's boiling hot in England and I'm suffering with an overheating laptop on my legs to bring you this chapter. Comments thus gratefully received, please and also thanks. ;) 
> 
> Chapter title from "Isn't She Lovely" by Stevie Wonder.

The Doctor was ensconced comfortably in the reading chair in the console room, Emma laid on his lap as he murmured to her in Gallifreyan. She stared up at him with wide, knowing eyes, only a few days old but already listening attentively to his tales of galaxies and stars, although she was still too young to be concerned with the world beyond her parents and the safety of the TARDIS. She reached for her father, cursing the lack of coordination that this body suffered, and managed to grasp his fingertip in one pudgy hand, offering a silent message to him to put an end to his tale of vanquishing foes long since gone. 

 _Daddy, this is impressive,_ she began, looking up at him with eyes reminiscent of her mother’s: deepest hazel, and sparkling with curiosity. _But where’s mummy? Mummy is more beautiful than any galaxy. I want mummy. Please._

“Oh, wee one,” he whispered, stroking her cheek as he contemplated her loving words. “Your ma is still sleeping, she’s tired.” 

 _Well, why aren’t_ you _tired? Sleep is important. Sleep is good for you._

“You sound just like your ma,” he grumbled good-naturedly, stroking her cheek as he smiled down at her. “I sleep sometimes, but I don’t need as much as ma does. Besides, you woke her up early, so we should let her sleep, eh?” 

 _I’m sorry_ , came Emma’s immediate response, and her bottom lip began to quiver warningly. _I was hungry, and I missed her. I didn’t mean to wake her up, daddy._  

“It’s OK,” he crooned, lifting her so that her cheek was against his shoulder, her face tucked against the curve of his neck as he stroked soft, reassuring circles on her back. “Ma and I don’t mind, Em. No tears, wee bairn.”

 _Daddy,_ Emma thought with a small whimper, nuzzling into him and grasping the lapel of his jacket in her tiny fist. _Sing for me, daddy. I liked it when you sang to mummy._

The Doctor looked down at his daughter with surprise, before standing up with her in his arms and cradling her gently against his chest as he began to sing an old Gallifreyan lullaby, the familiar words rolling off his tongue as he moved around the console room, occasionally stopping to flick a switch or check a screen. He sensed his daughter’s contentment as she lay quietly in his arms: a warm feeling that nudged up against his consciousness, soft and feather-light, similar enough to Clara’s consciousness for the maternal bond to be discernible, and yet advanced enough for him to recognise himself in her. For the hundredth time in days, he felt a rush of love for his daughter, and he closed his eyes as he hummed to her melodically.

“What’s that noise?” came an irritable voice, and River strode into the console room, the Doctor falling instantly silent as he took in her irked expression.

“I was… she wanted me to… I was singing for her,” he explained, inexplicably nervous as he stumbled over his words, his wife’s crossness startling him despite her recent spate of ill temper. “It’s an old lullaby from home.” 

“Oh,” River’s features softened infinitesimally, then hardened again as she fought to regain her composure. For the past few days, she had been decidedly ambivalent about the small child that now resided across the hallway from her, oscillating somewhere between politely interested and studiously _dis_ interested in Emma. “Sorry.”

“S’ok,” the Doctor mumbled, before a plan sprang into his mind, fully-formed, to bring together his wife and daughter in an attempt at establishing a bond between them. “Actually, can you hold her a sec? Gonna go make Clara a cuppa before she wakes up, and I can’t do that if I’ve got her, you know what Clara’s like about me and hot water and the baby.” 

“Can’t the TARD-” River protested, before Emma was thrust into her arms and the Doctor had disappeared in the general direction of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone in an uncomfortable silence. “Hello.” She said to the infant uncertainly, rocking her a little self-consciously and praying she wouldn’t mess anything up too badly. “Oh, god, please don’t cry.” 

 _Why would I cry?_ Emma asked, eying River with curiosity – the woman with the kind face but the haunted eyes, the woman who her mother and father so adored. She added a word proudly, enjoying how it felt to think it: _Mama._

“No no no,” River insisted, trying to glare balefully at the infant but falling short upon being confronted with the mirror image of Clara’s baleful stare. “I’m not your-” 

 _Mama,_ Emma thought more certainly with a slight smugness that was distinctly Gallifreyan-hued, gurgling up at River. _Yes, you are._  

The archaeologist sighed, accepting the title with a sense of resignation. “Fine,” she ceded unwillingly. “Yes, I’m your… mama, I guess. Hello.”

 _Hello_ , Emma thought happily, nuzzling into River’s arms and making a small sound of contentment. _It’s nice that you’re holding me. You haven’t held me before. Why? You’re my mama._

“It’s… complicated, kiddo,” River confessed. “I just… your mummy and daddy are, you know, related to you, but I’m not so I felt like… I felt like I shouldn’t. I felt like I didn’t have the right.”

 _Of course you do! Mummy loves you,_ Emma looked up at River with consternation, her eyes clouded with confusion. _Mummy loves you, and daddy loves you, so I love you. I was excited to meet you, mummy thinks about you_ all _the time._

“Really?” River whispered, looking down at Emma and feeling a pang of guilt. “She does?” 

 _Of course she does!_ The little girl put her thumb in her mouth as she contemplated River thoughtfully. _We love you. You’re my mama._  

Gently, hesitantly, River leant down and pressed a feather-light kiss to Emma’s forehead. “Well now… you’re wonderful, little one,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of an idiot. I promise from here on in, I will be the fun one.” 

_The fun one?_

“Aww, come on… like your mum and dad are gonna be the fun ones. Your dad is going to teach you all about maths and science, which has the potential for fun, admittedly… but your mum is going to have to rein him in, make sure you don’t blow anything up. So I will be the fun auntie. We can do naughty things, but not tell your mum and dad.” 

 _Auntie?_ Emma’s tone was quizzical as she gazed up at River. _Not mama?_

River wrinkled her nose. “Well… if I’m honest, kiddo, ‘mama’ makes me feel a little old. ‘Auntie River’ sounds pretty great though, hey? What do you think of that as a title?” 

 _Auntie River,_ Emma mused, making a soft gurgling noise in lieu of managing to speak the words aloud. _It sounds nice, it sounds like you. If only this damn body would let me talk, this would all be so much easier._

“I’m sorry,” River apologised, laughing a little. “Soon, little one. Once, you know, your sensory-motor control kicks in. Give it a few months. Then you’ll be chattering away as much as your mum, if not more.” 

There was the sound of muffled footsteps, and River turned to see Clara padding down the corridor towards her, wearing soft plaid pyjamas and a sleepy smile. “Hey,” she said quietly, before noticing Emma in River’s arms, and looking to her wife with surprise. “You two… finally got acquainted?” she managed after a moment, and River beamed at her with pride.

“Yes indeed,” she said, standing to allow Clara to sit in the reading chair, crouching beside it so that Clara could look down at Emma. “She’s a little angel.” 

“You’ve changed your tune,” her wife said, narrowing her eyes in River’s direction but holding her hand out to her daughter, stroking her stomach gently. “But yes, she is indeed fairly angelic. Not at one in the morning though. I hope she’s not been invoking her father and being rude.” 

“Not rude at all,” River said, then chuckled, looking down at Emma with a wicked smile. “She thinks _you’re_ being rude for assuming she would be rude… but I guess like mother, like daughter, so what can I say?”

“Hey!” Clara protested, before smiling affectionately at her wife and daughter. “It’s nice to see you both getting on, even if you took your sweet time about it. I’m guessing the Doctor had something to do with this? It’s got his fingerprints all over it.”

“Of course,” River admitted with a touch of mortification as she realised the childishness of her actions over the past few days. “He sort of… stage-managed things.”

“Do you know where he popped off to? I’ve got a proposal for him.” Clara asked, wrinkling her nose cutely as she smiled down at Emma, making daft faces at the little girl as she awaited a response. 

“Well,” came the Time Lord’s voice from the corridor, and he appeared moments later with three cups of tea in his hands. “I’m already married to the most amazing women you could envisage; you should really meet them sometime…” 

“Shut up,” Clara punched him in the arm carefully, taking her mug of tea and sipping it. “Not that kind of proposal. It’s just… I remembered that we promised Kate we’d go and visit her once the baby was born. And I figured we could maybe go and see my gran too. You know. If that would be OK with you. If you do that sort of thing.” 

“Of course I do that sort of thing, Clara. We can drop in on UNIT, yes,” he agreed, passing River her mug and then standing at the console and programming coordinates in one-handed as he sipped his own drink. “It’ll do Emma good to see her home planet.” 

“ _One of_ her home planets,” Clara corrected. “Gallifrey-”

“Is lost,” the Doctor said firmly, cutting her off before she could get any further. “So as far as I’m concerned, Earth is her home. Emma, what do you…” he trailed off, looking around for his daughter and then noticing for the first time that she was still quietly settled in River’s arms, exactly where he’d left her. “So, my plan worked then?” 

“You sly dog,” River said, raising her eyebrows at him without real irritation. “You planned this whole thing – dumping her on me while you scuttled off to the kitchen!”

“Well, I couldn’t have you ignoring her for the next twenty-one years, could I?” he grinned at his wife triumphantly. “She kept asking for you, it seemed only fair.”

“She’s very cute, even if you are an arsehole,” River rocked her, letting Emma grip her finger as she did so. “She likes the Earth idea, but she thinks that her mum should possibly go and get dressed first though.” 

“Oh,” Clara realised, her voice oddly strained as she looked between her husband and wife, then down at herself. “Right, yeah.” She disappeared back in the direction of her room, as River smiled down at Emma, too caught up in the little one to notice Clara’s manner. 

“Can I go and get this one ready?” she asked, looking to the Doctor for permission. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he informed her, rolling his eyes at the question. “She’s _your_ daughter too, go and pick something cute. Well. Cute by Clara’s standards, not by mine.”

River beamed at him excitedly and wandered off with Emma in the direction of the nursery as the Doctor bustled around the console, checking readouts and flicking the occasional lever as he contemplated the impending visit to UNIT. It would be Emma’s first time on Earth, her first time leaving the TARDIS, and he prayed that nothing would go wrong during the short trip and that nobody would seek to harm their daughter. 

Caught up in his tinkering and his worrying, twenty minutes passed before he noticed that neither woman had reappeared, and he felt worry stir in the pit of his stomach as he strode down the corridors, looking between the door to the nursery and the door to Clara’s room, trying to decide which to check first. As he hesitated, the sound of a sob reached him from Clara’s bedroom and he made up his mind at once, knocking on the door softly and leaning his ear against the wood as he awaited a response. 

“What?” came his wife’s voice, oddly muffled, and he opened the door with trepidation, finding her laid face-down on her bed, her dressing gown still tightly wrapped around her as sobs shook her shoulders.

“Clara?” he said with concern, moving to sit beside her and placing one hand on her shoulder, but she jumped slightly at his touch. “What’s wrong?” 

“ _I_ am,” she mumbled into her pillow, before moving her face so that her voice was less obscured by her pillows. “I’m all fat and disgusting and horrible.” 

“You _did_ have a baby six days ago, you know,” he quipped, but her sobs only continued all the more loudly, and he felt his hearts break in empathy for what she was feeling, even if he was unable to elucidate his comprehension aloud. “Things will all kind of… snap back into place, you don’t need to worry about that – you’re young, you’re malleable, it’ll be alright.”

“But they _haven’t_ ,” Clara insisted with distress, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she rolled over and gazed up at him, engrossed in self-loathing. “Besides, I’m not young, you said it yourself – I’m probably _loads_ older than twenty-nine, so what if I’m stuck being fat and awful forever? I won’t be able to run around after you like this, you’ll probably end up dumping me and going off with River, at least she can run and-”

“Clara,” he interrupted firmly, taking her hand in his and meshing his fingers through hers. “Clara, look at me, love.”

Unwillingly, she sat up a little, her eyes wide and red as she looked at him, before he wrapped his arms around her waist with the utmost care and pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling his face into her neck. “Clara Oswald, you will never look any different to me, or to River. We love you, and that love for you is not related to what you look like. We love you – _you,_ not your body, but your mind and your smile and your kindness. I know I can’t force you to believe me, but we do. OK?”

“But-” 

He leant his forehead against hers and projected into her mind – carefully, slowly, so as not to overwhelm her – the depth of his love for her, the myriad ways he adored her, and the ways that she was beautiful to him that did not involve the size of her waist or the clothes she wore, but were instead linked to a thousand individual moments. The way she smiled at him in the morning; the way she grinned at him, both of them high on adrenaline, on an adventure; the way she would sit with him and quietly recite poetry in the calm tranquillity of the library. The way her tongue poked out of her mouth as she concentrated; the way she was utterly selfless when it came to her love and her time; the way her eyes lit up when she saw him or River. Interspersed with his memories came flashes of their time together when he was Bow-Tie: their incorrigible enthusiasm for adventure; their laughter as they ran; their casual, easy gestures of affection that he was initially so jealous of his younger self for being able to engage in so freely… and then came the images he had retained so carefully from the last few days, of Clara as a new mother, feeding their daughter, cradling their daughter and gazing down at her as if she was the centre of the universe. 

 _You are the centre of_ my _universe,_ he thought to her, his words laden with love. _All three of you, the centre of my universe._

He broke the connection then, pulling away infinitesimally and looking down at Clara with a smile, surprised to see tears filling her eyes as she took a deep breath. 

“I mean that much?” she asked softly, her hand rising to cup his cheek, and he smiled, turning his head to kiss her palm. 

“Of course,” he whispered. “I thought my feelings were perfectly clear when it came to you, Clara.” 

“It’s nice to be reminded,” she said with a self-conscious smile, kissing him quickly before rising from the bed and beginning to get dressed with hesitation, selecting loose-fitting garments that wouldn’t cling to her still-recovering body in an unflattering way. “Where’s Emma?” 

“With River,” he informed her, remembering suddenly that River had vanished into the nursery some time ago. “I should go and-”

River entered the room with Emma in her arms, grinning proudly. “Dressed her! All by myself. She’s ever so good, not like most babies.” 

“I know,” Clara said with a small laugh, holding out her arms and smiling as her daughter was laid in them. “Hello, darling girl. Don’t you look gorgeous? All dressed up ready for your first trip to Earth.”

 _I’m excited,_ Emma thought to her mother, holding her finger tightly as she cooed. _Is it as beautiful as daddy says?_

“Well,” Clara said, wondering how to describe London to her daughter. “Where we’re going first isn’t that pretty, but we can go somewhere beautiful.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead gently. “My little love.” 

 _Hungry,_ Emma realised, looking up at Clara beseechingly, and her mother sighed in mock exasperation. _Please?_

“I’m just gonna feed her,” Clara told her partners. “Then we can go.” 

“In that case, I’m going to go and fix my hair,” River said decisively, kissing Clara on the cheek. “Meet you in the console room.” 

Once she had left the room, Clara looked back to her daughter, carefully unbuttoning her shirt and unhooking her bra, watching as the little girl started to feed. “How,” Clara asked the Doctor, aware of him hovering a short way away somewhat self-consciously. “Did we make something so amazing?” 

“Good genetics from your side,” he teased. “Definitely nothing from mine. Except the nose. I apologise about the nose.” 

“Don’t,” Clara chided, looking up and sticking her tongue out at him. “Are you going to lurk over there awkwardly for the next five minutes, or come and actually look at our daughter?” 

“Sorry,” he said immediately, sitting beside her on the bed and wrapping an arm around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder so that he could look down at their daughter with a fond expression. “She looks pretty happy, doesn’t she?” 

“Well, she’s very loved, and also very hungry,” Clara laughed, careful not to disturb Emma. “She doesn’t really think much when she’s doing this, too engrossed.” 

“Well, this is true,” he concurred, kissing Clara’s cheek gently. “I never thought, you know… I never thought I’d have a family again, not after what happened before. I was so afraid, but now… now I just feel like things are completely perfect. So thank you.” 

“What are you thanking me for?” Clara asked, raising her eyebrows a little at her husband as she wondered what, precisely, she had done to facilitate his appreciation. “You helped.”

“You just…” he turned a little red, suddenly embarrassed by his clumsy ineptitude with words. “You’re easy to love, and you fixed my broken heart. Twice.” 

“Well then,” she said, with a small grin. “You’re welcome, space man.” 

She leant over and kissed him softly then, a longer kiss than they were used to, and she felt him smile as she did so, his hand resting on the back of her neck and his thumb tracing patterns along her hairline. 

 _Mummy,_ came Emma’s voice in her head, and she jumped, pulling back from the Doctor and looking down at her daughter’s mischievous expression. _Mummy, I know daddy is interesting, but you’re kind of squashing me._


	25. Stay This Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling more confident in their roles, the Doctor, River and Clara decide that it's time for their daughter's inaugural visit to Earth. And who better to introduce Emma to first than UNIT's Chief Scientific Officer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Never Grow Up" by Taylor Swift. (Lol Taylor please don't sue me thanks.)

The TARDIS landed beside Tower Bridge as quietly as the Doctor could manage, wary as he was of startling their newborn daughter. “Here we are,” he said, checking the monitor before beaming with a sense of self-satisfaction. “London, UK, 2017. Sunny, some slight cloud cover, not too hot for Emma. All in all, perfect.” 

“Show off,” Clara said, reaching up to fluff up his hair affectionately, before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his torso, resting her cheek against his back. “Are we all ready?” 

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” River said brightly, looking to the Doctor and narrowing her eyes. “Have you got the baby bag?” 

“Can’t you carry it?” he complained, his tone whiny as he pouted. “It spoils the line of my jacket, I’ll carry her Moses basket. Deal?”

River sighed. “Fine,” she capitulated, unwilling to argue. “But you owe me for this.” 

“Guys,” Clara said in her best teacher voice, pulling away from the Doctor and scooping her daughter up from the basket on the reading chair. “Less bickering, more exploring. Come on.”

With that, she opened the doors of the TARDIS and stepped out, Emma tucked safely in her arms as the sunlight hit their skin. It had been a long time since Clara had been on Earth, and for a moment she allowed herself to simply look around in wonder, taking in the sights and sounds, feeling the wind and the sun on her face, and then she turned her attention to her daughter, whose eyes were wide with curiosity. Sitting on a nearby bench and laying the infant on her lap, she took her daughter’s hands in hers and felt Emma’s fascination as she tried to take in their surroundings. 

 _It’s all so big,_ Emma thought in awe, her tone somewhat giddy in response to so many stimuli. _And so light, and there’s sun! Oh, the sun, it’s so warm, mummy! And there’s lots of noise, and there’s so many people… lots and lots of people, it’s so loud…_

“Is she alright?” the Doctor asked quietly, appearing at her shoulder and leaning down to peer at their daughter with a look of concern. “I know it can be a bit much sometimes.” 

“She’s amazed,” Clara informed him happily, kissing Emma’s forehead. “She likes the sunshine, but I guess you would after you’ve been inside for your whole life.” 

“Six days,” River said, sinking down next to Clara and stroking Emma’s hair. “I can’t believe it’s been six days… sunlight must be amazing.”

 _It’s nice,_ Emma concurred contentedly, wriggling slightly on her mother’s lap. _It’s warm, and the sky is so pretty._  

“Can I take her?” the Doctor asked, and Clara nodded her assent, her husband reaching down and scooping their daughter into his arms. “Hey, little one,” he murmured, carrying her over to the edge of the embankment so she could look out at the river. “Welcome to the world, Emma.” 

 _Is it always so loud?_ She asked, wrinkling her nose a little, and her father laughed. 

“It’s pretty loud, yep,” he confirmed to her. “But there are quiet areas. Less people. Humans like making a lot of noise with their technology… for now, at least; it all improves in a few decades and things get a little quieter. For now, we just have to deal with it, I’m afraid.” 

_I can deal with it. Here is nice. Here is where mummy’s family are. And your friends._

“That’s right, Em,” he kissed her hair gently, remembering something crucial and reminding her: “You have to remember though, your ma’s family and our friends won’t be used to hearing your voice, so you can’t speak to them like you do with us, darling.” 

_So I have to be silent? Like a normal baby?_

“Yes, love,” he whispered, and she grimaced in response, provoking a laugh from her father. “I know it’s not ideal, and I know that normal is overrated, but we don’t want to scare the humans, so normal it is.” 

 _I guess not…_  

He chuckled at her reticence, realising how like himself she truly was: unwilling to conform, yet needing to fit in to be accepted by those around them; the unhappy predicament of the earth-bound Time Lord. “Now, now. Come on, let’s go and meet Auntie Kate and Auntie Osgood. They’re going to love you.” 

He turned back to Clara and River, beaming at them enthusiastically as Emma nuzzled into the soft fabric of his hoodie, her thoughts a contented but incoherent whirl of sensations and feelings. 

“All good?” Clara asked, her eyes tinged faintly with worry, and the Doctor put his arm around her waist, pressing a quick kiss to her hair in reassurance. 

“Yep,” he assured her to allay her fears. “Just, you know… giving the old ‘most humans aren’t used to telepathy’ warning.”

“Good call,” River said, looking between her husband and Emma, then over to the Tower beside them. “Now, how do we actually get _in_ to UNIT? It looks pretty fortified to me…” 

“Well, it _did_ used to be a fortress,” came a voice from behind them, and they turned to see Kate stood there, beaming at the unlikely family. “Although we do like to think that we’re a little more child-friendly now.” 

“Kate!” Clara exclaimed, her face breaking into a grin at the sight of their old friend. “How did you know we were here?”

“Well, that would be a combination of military intelligence and basic observation,” she confessed playfully, taking in their blank looks and clarifying: “The TARDIS isn’t the quietest ship in the world, Doctor… it’s not renowned for stealth.” 

“It may not be stealthy, but it’s still the best,” he grumbled good-naturedly, looking down at Emma and pulling a face at his daughter. “Isn’t it?” 

“Oh,” Kate said softly, taking a few steps closer, her eyes alight with wonder. “Is this…?” 

“Emma,” Clara supplied helpfully, watching as Kate approached the Doctor and looked down at their tiny daughter with absolute tenderness. “Yes indeed. Six days old today.” 

“She’s lovely,” Kate said with sincerity, beaming down at the infant. “Come on, let’s get you inside – I want a cuddle with little one, and if Osgood doesn’t then I’ll take her turn as well.” 

Smiling at River and taking her hand, Clara followed Kate and the Doctor inside, half-listening to them chatter away about security clearances and threat levels and protocols. Sensing River’s growing amazement as they descended deeper into UNIT HQ, Clara realised that her wife had never visited before, and she grinned mischievously. “It’s cool, isn’t it?” she asked, watching as River looked around in awe, as enthralled in their surroundings as any small child might be in a sweet shop. “They’ve got some pretty cool tech, especially down in the Black Archive.”

“I always thought that was a myth,” River said with a low whistle of appreciation, her curiosity piqued. “It’s real?”

“I’ve been inside a few times,” Clara confessed, and River’s eyes widened in astonishment, her expression tinged with envy. “It’s pretty cool, but I didn’t know what half the stuff did. Didn’t have time to ask, either… was kind of in a hurry to save the world.” 

“You’ve… you’ve got clearance to…” River groaned in frustration. “Honestly, this job is wasted on you, Clara Oswald.” 

“What job?!” 

“You know,” River nudged her playfully, wrapping her arm around Clara’s waist and kissing her hair. “Wife. Mother. Saver of worlds. All-round kicker of arse. _That_ job.” 

“Yeah yeah, like you’re not also a pretty all-round badass…” Clara mused, grinning at her wife and wondering idly what the combined force of River Song and UNIT might be able to accomplish.

The path they took through the building involved Kate leading them past the central control room, having decided that it would be for the best in order to avoid distracting those there from their work, so she lead them instead down a narrow corridor and into her office. Clara looked around at the news stories which covered the walls, recognising the odd headline and realising that this was, in fact: “How you keep score?” she half-asked, half-stated, pointing to one she definitely recalled, about atmospheric conditions linked to satellite navigation systems. She had been in France at the time with the Maitlands, but she remembered the sky turning a broiling shade of red, and the ensuing wave of fire that swept from horizon to horizon. 

“That one was a little before my time,” Kate said with a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I was still pretty low-ranked then. But it’s nice to have these up, reminds me why I do what I do.” 

“Well, it’s more interesting than him,” Clara jerked her head towards the Doctor, catching his look of mock-reproach and poking her tongue out in response. “He just goes to museums, that’s how he keeps score. Museums are great, but one space-museum looks much like another, so it gets quite dull. I like this idea better, much more aesthetically appealing.” 

“Hey! Mr Boring’s museum trips have saved my hide on more than one occasion,” River interjected with feigned indignation, looking to the Doctor with a wink that caused his cheeks to turn a fiery shade of red. “Alfava Metraxis, for one.” 

“You’re…” Kate seemed to notice River for the first time, intent as she had been on the Doctor and Emma, and she looked – if Clara had to describe the expression on her face – a little starstruck. “I’m so sorry, I should have… oh my gosh… You’re Professor River Song.” 

“The woman, the myth, the legend,” River said with an easy grin, sticking out her hand and watching Kate blush crimson as she pumped it up and down furiously. “You’ve heard of me, then?” 

“Heard of you?!” Kate enthused, her voice rising an octave in excitement. “You’re… it’s an absolute honour, Professor Song, I’m a very big fan of your work. Not to mention your past – beating brainwashing and falling in love with your mark? Unbelievable. Un _believ_ able.” 

“Why thank you,” River said modestly, although her expression could not be more smug. “I’ve heard a lot about you too – nice work on the engagement ring front, by the way.” 

“Well,” Kate looked bashful, quick to downplay her part in the Doctor and Clara’s matrimonials. “It was nothing, really…” 

Emma squeezed her father’s finger and a sense of light frustration overwhelmed him, emitted by the little girl: Emma’s confusion and irritation that _no,_ she was the centre of attention, not Auntie River, thank you _very much._ He bit back a laugh and responded in kind with: _You really are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you?_  

“Kate,” he said aloud, his tone mock-serious as he looked at her with severity. “I thought you’d requested cuddles with Emma, not fawning over my wife.” 

“I…” she stammered, the colour heightening in her cheeks once more. “My bad…”

He burst into laughter. “I’m just teasing,” he assured her, his tone softening as he looked down at his daughter lovingly. “Emma’s not used to not being the centre of the universe all the time… although admittedly for us, she might as well be.” 

“You’ve changed,” Kate noted, crossing the room to look down at the small child, then grinning up at the Doctor. “You’re getting quite soft in your old age.” 

“Well,” he said with uncharacteristic humbleness. “Having a baby does that to you… not that these two lovely ladies aren’t every bit as important.” 

“You charmer,” Clara said dryly, recognising the look in Kate’s eyes. “You can hold her, it’s OK. She won’t mind, she loves being fussed over.” 

The Doctor passed Emma to Kate with a small smile, and the little girl looked up at her with a solemn gaze, her hazel eyes wide as she contemplated the new person – only the fourth she had ever met. “She looks so much like Clara,” Kate breathed, taking Emma’s hand and smiling down at her warmly. “Those big eyes…” 

Clara laughed. “It’s a nightmare, I can already tell she’s going to use them to devastating effect on her dad.” 

“What about you?” Kate asked, looking up at Clara with a grin. “Won’t they work on you?” 

“One of us has to be the strict parent,” Clara confessed reluctantly, already beginning to accept which role she had taken on in the relationship. “So I guess that’s going to be me.” 

“Neither of us are keen on being strict,” River added, sinking into a seat. “We’re much too interested in having a good time, and letting Emma have fun.” 

“No blowing things up, please,” Clara begged, but River only smirked in response, her expression infuriatingly wicked. “Well, we’re doomed. Nobody get attached to their eyebrows.”

Kate was making soft cooing noises at Emma, who only looked up at her coolly, her expression impassive as she contemplated this unknown human who seemed intent on treating her like… well, like she was a normal baby. Unnerved, Kate looked to the Doctor, wondering how best to phrase her observation. “She’s very… self-aware,” she settled upon. “She looks like she’s one hundred percent done with me.” 

“Ah,” the Time Lord explained, unwilling to divulge the full truth of his daughter’s development. “She’s pretty advanced… must say, she’s following my instructions pretty well.” 

“Instructions?” 

“She hasn’t slipped up yet. Clara, where do you reckon she gets the ability to do as she’s told from? Certainly not me or you.” 

Emma’s indignation at this playful remark caused her mental shields to fall, and Kate gasped as she felt the unfamiliar sensation of another person’s emotions in her mind. 

 _Damn,_ came a quiet voice in her head, and Kate’s eyes widened in shock as she realised that she was hearing Emma’s thoughts. _My bad._

“There we go,” the Doctor said, and Clara rolled her eyes at his nonchalance and lack of regard for secrecy. “Sorry. She… does that, quite a lot.”

“Is it… normal?” Kate asked, trying to regain a modicum of composure while attempting to act like babies being telepathic was something she regularly encountered. “For babies like her?”

“There _are_ no babies like her,” Clara noted. “But the Doctor says it’s normal for Gallifreyan children to communicate like that. I could hear her throughout my pregnancy, she’s very eloquent. Definitely gets that from me.” 

“Narcissist,” the Doctor said fondly, ignoring Clara’s playful scowl. “I jest. It’s definitely hopeful narcissism – she might yet end up getting her way with words from me.” 

“Yeah, cos you’re _so_ eloquent,” Clara retorted immediately, raising her eyebrows at her husband. “How many times did you say ‘I have a duty of care’ instead of the three little words?” 

“Clara,” River interjected, Kate’s gaze flicking between the three of them rapidly as she tried to keep up with their back-and-forth. “He’s a timesmith, not a wordsmith. That’s your job. I’m…” 

“The gunsmith?” the Doctor guessed, and River scowled at him, before her expression thawed as she caught sight of the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Well, that works. Auntie Kate’s the scientist, clearly.”

“Well, this is an honour,” Kate admitted with a little laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day the Doctor settled down, let alone had a little one I could play auntie to…” 

“It’s all Clara’s influence,” he said quickly, before catching River’s eye and hurriedly amending: “And River’s. They’re good influences on this sad old stick insect.” 

“So I see,” Kate concurred with a small chuckle. “She’s an absolute angel, you must be so proud.” 

“Oh, we are,” Clara stifled a yawn somewhat apologetically. “Also kinda tired, she sleeps about as much as most babies… which isn’t loads.” 

There was a soft knock on the door and Kate murmured her assent to enter, Osgood sidling into the room with a nervous expression on her face as she surveyed the five occupants. “Hi,” she began, pushing her glasses up her nose and smiling around at them. “Came to see what all the fuss was about.” 

“Osgood!” Clara enthused, crossing the room and embracing the young woman. “It’s good to see you! Come and meet Emma, you’re going to love her.” 

“I’m not sure if I’m any good with babies,” she warned, taking a seat and looking up at Kate apprehensively. “I don’t really know any.”

“You’ll do just fine,” River reassured her, as Kate laid Emma in her arms and she looked down at the infant, praying that some long-buried instinct would kick in and unlock her maternal side. “She’s very well behaved.” 

“You’re…” Osgood realised, looking to the professor in awe, her attention momentarily diverted from the baby. “You’re…” 

“Professor River Song,” River said smoothly, eager to move the conversation on. “Yes I am, and we can do this later, but in the meantime, you might want to focus on the small child you’re holding. Wouldn’t want you dropping her.” 

“Oh god,” Osgood said worriedly, holding Emma a little tighter and rocking her self-consciously. “I won’t drop her, I promise. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

“That fills me with confidence,” the Doctor said, tipping Osgood a wink. “I have faith in you, Petronella.” 

“No first-naming,” she grumbled in response, blushing slightly. “You know I hate it.” 

“Yes I do,” he acquiesced with an apologetic grin, perching on the edge of Kate’s desk and shooting her an appraising look. “Where’s your other half?” 

“Oh,” Osgood said brightly, glad for the change of subject. “She’s in Hungary, working on… a thing. Nothing dangerous, don’t worry.”

“Not dangerous in that it’s no risk to her, or no risk to aliens?” 

“Both,” Osgood assured him, before concentrating her attention back on Emma, who was nuzzled into her chest comfortably. “She’s very cute, guys. Well done. Love the little bow-tie print.” 

“Oh!” Kate said suddenly, diving behind her desk and retrieving a gift bag that she had managed to forget about. “We got you some things. For little one. They’re from us all.” 

“Kate!” Clara exclaimed, a touch surprised. “You didn’t have to… that’s really kind of you all, thank you so much!”

“It was our pleasure,” Kate said, passing the unexpectedly heavy bag across to the trio. “We may have gone a bit overboard, it’s not often we get to indulge our inner whims and buy baby clothes and the like.” 

Clara shot her a grin and then sat beside her husband and wife, beginning to remove present after present from the depths of what seemed, to her, to be a cavernous bag. “Wow,” she said softly, as they unearthed soft sleepsuits with starry patterns, teddy bears with velvety-smooth fur and even a tiny pair of Converse. “These are beautiful Kate, thank you so much.” 

The Doctor’s attention, however, was captured by a small black box, which he opened to reveal a tiny bracelet with a small heart attached, resting innocuously on a small red cushion. “Is this…” 

“Midnotian gold, yes. We found this on a merchant ship that crashed here in 2013.” Kate looked somewhat awkward as she continued: “Of course, it’s really meant to be studied for science, but we’ve learnt all we can from it…” 

“What’s midnotian gold?” Clara asked with curiosity, looking down at the tiny bracelet and admiring the careful craftsmanship, each link seamlessly fused to the next, the heart set with a tiny, clear gem. 

“It’s ah…” the Doctor hesitated, wondering how to phrase it to avoid worrying his wife. “It’s slightly sentient. As Emma grows, the bracelet will grow with her – it will always fit her perfectly.” 

“Also…” Kate added, before trailing off, looking to the Doctor with a knowing expression. “Well, I’ll let the Doctor explain.” 

“Midnotian gold is always made in two pieces, because it recognises family ties,” he said slowly. “When it’s joined together like this, it’s calm, it’s happy. But if a family is separated – either by force or by choice – it has a unique behaviour. Say River were to travel to Paris… if we unclipped this charm, it would fly to where she was.” 

“That tiny little charm?” Clara asked in awe, squinting at it with admiration. “What if it got lost? Or damaged? And what does it do when it gets to her?” 

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said with a small chuckle. “Midnotian gold is surprisingly tough. It’d fly to her and then try to lead her back to Emma. Midnotia had a problem with slavers, so these bracelets were intended to safeguard children who were kidnapped.” 

Clara smiled warmly at Kate, understanding the importance of what she had given them with regard to ensuring the safety and wellbeing of their daughter. “Thank you,” she said wholeheartedly, touched by the gift. “That’s a wonderful gift for Emma, thank you so much, both of you.” 

Clara turned to thank Osgood and found, to her surprise, that her daughter had fallen asleep in the scientist’s arms, her face blissfully serene as she slumbered. 

“How…” River began, lost for words. “How on earth did you manage that?” 

“I don’t know,” Osgood admitted, smiling somewhat proudly at her achievement. “It’s never happened before.” 

“Oh, Osgood,” the Doctor said, with a broad smile. “You’re going to be one hell of a babysitter.”


	26. Time Can Be Transcended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwhelmed by the emotion of seeing her grandmother again, Clara makes a confession to the Doctor regarding her family, and is surprised when he offers her a pragmatic solution to her dilemma. Taken back to the start, she is able to introduce their daughter to someone very special indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluffy fluffiness! I promise there will be a change in pace soon.
> 
> Chapter title from "Remember" by Josh Groban.

Clara had been quiet ever since they’d got back from visiting her gran’s some hours previously. She thought – perhaps naively – that the Doctor hadn’t noticed as he was engrossed in tinkering with whatever it was he was tinkering with, but in actuality he was spending just as much time looking at her as he was looking at the cable in his hand. Which probably explained why he didn’t notice it snaking around to send a shower of sparks into his palm until it was too late, at which point he swore loudly and earned himself a chastising glare from River for using such language with Emma present. Clara, on the other hand, didn’t even look up from her position in the reading chair, seemingly concentrating on her daughter laying in her arms, but even from a distance he could see that her eyes were unfocused, and so he approached her cautiously, wary of startling her and his sleeping child. 

“Clara?” he asked from a few metres away, but when he received no response he stepped a little closer to her and crouched, sinking down on his haunches until his face was level with her torso, saying her name again more gently, worry evident in his tone. “Clara?” 

She jumped then, flinching backwards minutely, her eyes re-focusing on his face as she was jolted from her reverie and brought back to reality. “Mm?” she asked, unsure what he had said, knowing she should probably have been paying attention. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” he enquired, reaching down to stroke Emma’s hair, his hand subtly brushing over Clara’s skin and his mind seeking to connect with hers. “You seem a bit… out of it.” 

Mentally she pulled away from him, but she turned her hand over in his and squeezed, seeking to reassure him that all was well. “I’m fine,” she lied unconvincingly, her tone flatly buoyant. “Just tired, you know…” she caught the look in his eyes then, the one that told her that he knew she was lying, but she only shrugged weakly, unable to contemplate telling him the truth. “I’m _fine_.” 

“Clara” he said simply, narrowing his eyes at her as he laid the facts before her. “Since we got back here, you’ve not said a word. You look… if I didn’t know better, I’d say _haunted_ , but I thought by now we’d long since disproven the existence of ghosts. What with the Fisher King and such.” 

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty about confessing what was on her mind. “Haunted?” she repeated, her teeth clamping down on her lip as she studied him nervously, worrying at the soft skin there as she thought. “Maybe a little bit haunted, actually, yeah,” she confessed, the faintest of smiles playing over her features as she spoke. “But not in the way you think.” 

“Good, because I was worried I might have died without noticing.” 

“ _We’d_ have noticed,” River noted, ascending the stairs to them and bunkering down on the floor beside Clara’s chair, resting her head on the arm and gazing down at Emma with affection. “But probably not said anything, for fear of invoking your paranormal, psychotic curiosity.” 

Clara laughed a little then, the sound scraping from her throat as she looked between her husband and wife, then back down at Emma to avoid meeting their gaze. “ _He’s_ not dead,” she said half to herself, her tone muted. “None of us are dead, it’s no one in here, it’s…” 

“Oh,” the Doctor said thickly, suddenly understanding her concerns and her demeanour as he experienced a rush of comprehension: visiting her grandmother had reminded her of the family she had lost, and he felt suddenly empathic. “Your parents.” 

Clara looked to him with surprise, ready to chide him for invading her mind unnoticed, but he only shrugged modestly and offered the simple explanation: “I had parents once, Clara. Ones who didn’t see my firstborn.” 

“Oh,” she mumbled, in symmetry to his moment of earlier realisation, feeling abruptly guilty for making assumptions. “Sorry, I didn’t…” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said at once, cutting her off before she could continue to apologise for matters outside her locus of control. “You have nothing to be sorry about, especially not your sadness. Everyone is allowed to be sad. I’m sad sometimes.” 

“Yeah, but you’re allowed,” Clara sighed sadly. “Your whole planet…” 

“My whole planet is gone, so what? So you think you’re not allowed to be sad because your loss doesn’t equate to mine? A whole planet compared to your parents?” he scoffed, pausing before continuing more gently: “Parents are, to many children, an entire world. They guide you, they shape you, they make you who you are. Losing them is unbearable. Losing a parent is losing a home – losing your mother especially, when she _was_ your home once. Although you consider the losses incomparable, grief is grief; it cannot be measured or quantified.” 

“How’d you get so wise?” she replied, looking to him with tears in her eyes, and he knew that behind her semi-playful tone there was a deep sense of gratitude for his words. “Was it all that literature I made you read?” 

“Might have been the _Fifty Shades of Grey_ ,” he retorted with a small grin, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards almost imperceptibly. “Or it might have been the two millennia of coming to terms with loss and trying to tell myself it’s OK to miss people.” 

“That too,” she admitted, looking down to their sleeping daughter and closing her eyes against the tears that burned there. “Yes, I miss my parents. I wish they’d been able to meet Emma. They’d have spoiled her absolutely rotten. Mum would’ve made her so many cakes, we’d have gotten annoyed about all the sugar highs…” 

“I think we’ve got the spoiling rotten in hand,” River interjected, but she reached out and stroked Clara’s forearm, her fingertips trailing lightly over the exposed skin there. “But I understand what you mean. That parental bond is sacred. Blood calls to blood.” 

“That sounded a little creepy,” Clara admonished, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “But god, I just… I wish they could’ve seen her, you know? Just to get to meet her, just to hold her and love her.” She swiped a hand over her eyes, smearing a streak of eyeliner across the bridge of her nose. “Sorry.” 

“There’s no shame in crying,” the Doctor told her, offering her a handkerchief in lieu of fumbling clumsily with platitudes that may only cause her to cry harder. “Believe me, I know.”

“There’s a beautiful role-reversal to a crying woman holding a sleeping baby, isn’t there?” she asked with a stab at humour, mopping her eyes and then grimacing at the black circles she’d left on the white cotton. “Sorry about-”

“Enough apologising,” River said firmly, taking the handkerchief and stuffing it into a back pocket. “You don’t need to apologise for being upset that they’re gone, Clara. It’s a perfectly natural reaction.” 

“I just feel like…” she paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I feel like I’ve let them down, because most of the time I’m not sad at all. And then I suddenly remember that they’re gone, and I feel like I shouldn’t be having fun, shouldn’t be celebrating… like after Dad died and I moved in here, and _you_ arrived, I felt like I shouldn’t be having fun. I shouldn’t have been… you know… with you. Because I should be honouring his memory.”

River, to her credit, refrained from making any inappropriate comments. 

“But then I kept thinking that he would’ve wanted me to be having a life, you know? But when I have a life I feel bad, and when I don’t have a life I feel bad, and I don’t know; I can’t come to terms with how to act or how to be and oh god I’ve been trying not to fall apart in front of you like this, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Hey,” the Doctor murmured, tilting her chin up to look at him. “Wait, you’ve been falling apart like this for months, and…” he frowned a little in consternation, turning to the console and swearing in Gallifreyan. “You’re supposed to be on my side!” he accused the machine, which only beeped apologetically. “Showing me when my wife is distraught is generally considered to be helpful!”

“It’s not the TARDIS’s fault,” Clara implored, tugging him back to face her. “And I know you, Doctor, so don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for this. I didn’t want you to know, I didn’t want River to know, so I didn’t tell anyone. You needed me to be strong.” 

“We don’t _need_ you to be anything other than yourself,” he told her decisively, kissing the back of her hand. “That’s all we ask of you. That you’re honest, and that you tell us when you need us.” 

“I’m the impossible girl,” she breathed, looking away from the intensity of his gaze as she felt her eyes burn with tears of shame. “Impossible girls don’t get to grieve. Impossible girls don’t get to-” 

“Fuck that,” the Doctor said furiously, but neither woman had the inclination to chide him. “There is one impossible girl. _You_. You define the moniker. You set the rules. If you want to be sad, you can be sad.” 

“But-” 

“There are no buts,” the Time Lord informed her. “You were struggling. River and I weren’t there for you…”

“Which wasn’t your fault!” Clara said weakly, feeling a swooping sense of guilt at the fact her husband and wife would now blame themselves for her emotional turmoil. 

“We weren’t there for you,” he continued a little more firmly. “But we are now. So, we’re here. And do you know what the best part is about having a husband and wife who are time travellers?” 

“Urm,” Clara mused, racking her brain in desperation. “Is it…” 

“I’ll save you the effort,” the Doctor said with a smile, turning and descending to the console, all slights on the part of the TARDIS forgiven. “It’s that we can take you back to the good old 1980s. To Blackpool, England. To see a couple of very special-” 

“No,” Clara breathed in stunned disbelief, as he programmed coordinates with a twinkle in his eye. “No, you wouldn’t really… Doctor, that’s…” 

“Probably extremely dangerous, yes,” he smirked up at her, knowing the danger was enough to lure her into agreeing to the trip. “But you miss your parents. So why not take you back to the start? Drop by and say hello?” 

“Isn’t this against… I don’t know, several rules?” she asked warily, unwilling to drag him into anything that contravened the laws of the Shadow Proclamation. “I don’t want you getting yourself in trouble for me.” 

“No one to hold me to account, and besides, it’s not like we’re going to meet little tiny you,” he shrugged casually and gestured to the handbrake, making a silent offer. “So, do you want to do this? It’s up to you whether we pull that lever or not.” 

“I…” she hesitated fractionally then made up her mind. _Sod it_. “Yes. You, pull that lever; River, take Emma and I will be back as soon as I no longer look like a panda, OK? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

She passed their daughter to her wife and disappeared to her bedroom as the Doctor disengaged the handbrake, looking to River a little triumphantly, pleased to be doing something nice for Clara. 

“You’re a sap,” she informed him, with a fond look. “A total, total sap.” 

“Well, how could I say no to either of you?” he murmured, pulling her close and kissing her, mindful of their daughter squashed between them. “My two frankly wonderful wives.” 

“To think that they call you the Oncoming Storm,” River laughed, cupping his cheek with a grin. “You’re not scary, are you? Not unless…”

“Not unless you harm my family, or my friends, nope,” he finished for her, leaning into her palm and brushing a hand lightly over Emma’s blanket, checking on his sleeping daughter before looking back up at River. “And nothing is ever going to, because I refuse to let it.” 

“And obviously the entire universe kowtows to the might of the last of the Time Lords,” she breathed, smirking slightly, and he rolled his eyes at her sarcastic tone. “What?” 

“You can’t just let me have this moment,” he grumbled sulkily, raising his eyebrows. “I am big and bad and very, very scary, I’ll have you know.” 

“Well, that sounds like my kind of thing,” River mused, kissing him with a laugh. “You’re just my kind of man.” 

“OK,” Clara interrupted, returning to the room while tugging on her shoes somewhat inelegantly. “Are you two done flirting? Because Emma’s going to wake up soon, and I’d like to be beside the seaside when she does, thanks.” 

“He flirts with you all the time,” River complained good-naturedly, but she took a step back from the Time Lord and passed Emma back to Clara, watching her cradle the little girl and feeling a rush of love for her family. “Who’s ready for shoulder pads and bat-wing tops?” 

“It’s more about…” 

“Your parents, we know,” the Doctor said softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her hair before diving away from them and returning, moments later, pushing an old Silver Cross pram. “It’s going to be ok,” he assured her, ignoring her look of surprise, laying Emma down in it before meshing his fingers through Clara’s. “I promise, it’ll be alright.” 

“If you say so, Mary Poppins,” she acquiesced, and with that the three of them stepped outside, the Doctor pushing his daughter proudly as they felt the sun on their skin and smiled in unison. “Wow. It’s not raining in Blackpool, how’d you manage that?” 

“Practice,” he said, as River said “accident” simultaneously. “Ignore her, let’s stick with my version.” 

“When are we?” River asked, her expression somewhat smug from having touched a nerve with her comment, and she leaned against the railings on the promenade, squinting out to sea with a practiced eye. “Precisely?” 

“June, 1983. Thatcher’s just won the election.” 

Clara made a distasteful face. “Don’t even _mention_ that woman. Especially not if-”

“Thatcher’s a scheming waste of space,” interjected an angry voice, and all three of them turned to see Dave Oswald, youthful and scowling, his hand held by Clara’s mother, who looked faintly apologetic about the situation. “She’s going to screw this country right into the ground, just you wait and see.” 

“Dave,” Ellie chided, her tone achingly familiar to Clara as the one that she had adopted – out of necessity – to head off her father’s politically motivated rants, particularly in public. “Now now, let’s not spoil our walk – or theirs.” 

“Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment, capitulating to his wife’s will immediately and turning a delicate shade of pink. “My bad.” 

“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed warmly, Clara frozen to the spot as her mother took a few steps closer to them and peered into the pram. “What a gorgeous baby! Is she yours?” she asked River, and that was enough to bring Clara back to her senses, smiling apprehensively. 

“Urm,” she began, drawing her mother’s attention for the first time. “No, she’s mine.” 

To her surprise, Ellie beamed at her, ignoring Dave’s look of disbelief. “Oh, she looks just like you; I see that now!” she enthused, her eyes meeting Clara’s as she spoke. “How old is she?” 

“Six days,” Clara said with a smile in return. “She’s an angel already, a nice easy baby.” 

“Six days?!” Ellie asked incredulously, looking Clara up and down in surprise. “You had a baby six days ago?! Oh my stars, you look fantastic!”

“Really?” Clara questioned, pleased with the compliment and inwardly glowing. “I thought I looked a bit rough, personally, but thanks.” 

“Don’t be daft!” Ellie reached into the pram gently, looking to Clara for permission, which she silently granted with a nod. “Is it OK to… I won’t wake her, I promise.” 

“Ellie’s great with babies,” Dave said proudly, edging forward and looking down at Emma with a fond expression. “We wanna have our own, but we’re trying to save up first. She’s gonna be a great mum.” He paused, then held out his hand. “Where’s my manners?! Interrupting your conversation and now not introducing myself. I’m Dave, this is my wife Ellie.” 

“Clara,” his daughter told him, shaking his offered hand and trying to ignore the surrealism of the moment. “This is my husband, John, and my… sister in law, River.” 

“That’s an unusual name,” he commented with surprise, as Ellie stroked Emma’s stomach reverently, completely engrossed by the little girl. “Clara’s a pretty one though. What do you think, Els? One for the book?”

“Definitely one for the book,” Ellie smiled over at Clara, before explaining: “What’s little one called? We’re scrounging about for baby names.” 

“Emma,” the Doctor told her. “Well, she’s properly Emma Eleanor Amelia, in full.” 

“That’s a lot of names for such a little thing!” Ellie laughed, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “What a small world. Here I was thinking I was the only gorgeous Eleanor in Blackpool.” 

“Well, you’re _my_ gorgeous Eleanor,” Dave murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her hair as she giggled, batting him away a little self-consciously but without real complaint. Clara felt her heart thud uncomfortably in her chest at the familiarity of the gesture, the easy affection that had so defined their relationship and her childhood. “Sorry. Can’t help myself, can I?” 

“He’s a right daft bugger, isn’t he?” Ellie said fondly, as Emma awoke and looked up into her grandmother’s eyes for the first time, hazel orbs meeting hazel orbs. “Oh! Hello! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, angel!” 

Emma blinked up Ellie curiously, too enthralled by this familiar-but-not-familiar woman to cry, and instead she wriggled, Clara recognising her non-verbal request to be picked up. 

“She… you can hold her, if you like,” she told her mother. “She won’t cry, she’s ever so good.” 

“Really?!” Ellie’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Oh, can I?” 

“Of course,” Clara smiled, then looked around them for somewhere to sit whilst Ellie did so. “Shall we go rest on that bench though? I know you don’t believe me, but it _has_ only been six days, so standing up and I aren’t friends again yet.” 

“God, how rude of me, sure!” Ellie exclaimed at once, following the trio and her husband across to a white-painted bench and scooping Emma up, sinking onto the seat and smiling down at the baby adoringly. “Oh, she’s gorgeous…” 

“Here comes the broodiness again,” Dave said with a fond eye-roll. “You’re a natural, look at you with her.” 

“You really are,” Clara said, a lump forming in her throat, and she turned to bury her face in the Doctor’s shoulder, half-muffling her words. “She likes you.” 

Dave sat beside his wife and beamed down at Emma, reaching down to take her tiny hand in his and feeling her fingers curl around his fingertip. “Hello,” he said a little awkwardly, his voice low and gentle as he spoke. “I’m not anywhere near as good with you as this lovely lady,” he chuckled. “But I’ll agree, you’re a little love, aren’t you?” 

Emma made a tiny sound of contentment, looking from Dave to Ellie and then across to her parents, understanding the importance of this moment. The Doctor leaned down to murmur in his wife’s ear: “She likes them,” he assured her, knowing what it would mean to Clara to know this. “She’s happy to meet them.” 

“Really?” Clara asked quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes as she watched them fuss over her daughter. “You can tell?”

“Of course I can tell, she’s my daughter,” he smiled, then addressed Ellie: “She definitely likes you.” 

Ellie smiled all the wider, cooing over Emma happily. “Oh, Dave…” she sighed with longing. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait. Maybe we should just…” 

“Ellie, love… you know we can’t afford it,” he said with pragmatism. “Things have got to be perfect first. That’s what we agreed.” 

“Well, you know…” Clara smiled at her parents a little shyly. “Even if things aren’t, your baby will be loved, and that counts for a lot.” 

“That’s true,” Dave chewed on his lip, exactly as his daughter often did, as he continued. “We’ve been a bit skint ever since we got married, though, so we both want to work hard to make sure we can look after a little one properly. Give them nice things.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be great parents,” Clara told him, fighting back tears as she watched her mother make faces at Emma, wishing idly that her daughter was old enough to giggle, so that both Clara and Ellie could cherish the sound for years to come. “I mean; Emma loves you already.” 

“It’s our dream,” Ellie said with a small, slightly sad smile. “I think we should maybe give her back before I end up stealing her, though.” 

“If you’re sure?” the Doctor asked, but Ellie only nodded, standing up and passing the little girl back to Clara, who looked down at her daughter and kissed her forehead. 

“It’s been lovely meeting you three. Clara… that’s definitely going on the list if we ever have a little princess!” Dave enthused, shaking John’s hand as he spoke and waving goodbye to Emma.

“Definitely,” Ellie agreed, beaming at Clara. “It’s a gorgeous name.” 

“Thank you,” Clara said modestly, concealing a grin. “It’s been nice meeting you both, I hope you have a wonderful day.” 

“And you! Enjoy the sunshine!” Ellie enthused, taking Dave’s hand then and strolling off down the promenade, turning to wave at them one final time before she ran with her husband onto the beach, giggling wildly. 

“Did… did my mother just decide to name me after me?” Clara asked a little weakly, and the Doctor laughed at her confusion. 

“Nice bootstrap paradox,” he teased, feeling a small sense of pride. “You’re basically me now. Well done on unlocking time traveller achievement 101.” 

“Shut up,” she mumbled with a laugh, elbowing him in the side. “So… would getting ice creams cause too much spatiotemporal resonance?”

“ _That’s_ my girl.”

 

* * *

 

Clara padded into the Doctor’s room late that evening, wrapped up in a fluffy dressing gown and carrying Emma’s Moses basket in one hand. Her hair stuck up in odd places, and he _thought_ she might have taken her makeup off, though he wouldn’t have been willing to swear on it. 

“Hi,” she said softly, placing their daughter down at the foot of the bed and then slipping underneath the covers with him, grateful for the shared warmth. 

“Hey yourself,” he murmured in response, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her hair, scooting closer to her so that she could cuddle him properly. “Can’t sleep?” 

“Nuh-uh,” she concurred, nuzzling into his side and resting her head against his chest, allowing herself to be soothed by his double heartbeat, closing her eyes against happy tears that threatened to spill. “Lonely.” 

“Where’s River?” he asked, stroking her back comfortingly as she fell silent for several moments. “Clara, love?” 

“Thank you,” she said out of nowhere, surprising him, her voice tiny as she looked up at him with wide eyes, emotion laid bare in their depths. “For today. It meant a lot to me, to be able to do that.” 

“Clara, it was my pleasure,” he told her, kissing her forehead. “My absolute pleasure.” 

“I love you,” she said sleepily, yawning as her eyes drooped, but resolving to tell him how she felt nonetheless. “I love you for being you. My space dork.” 

“My tiny English teacher,” he whispered, pulling the duvet around them a little more securely and ensuring she was comfortable. “I love you, Clara.”


	27. I Hope You Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Emma grows, the Doctor begins to grow increasingly concerned about the safety of his little family. When Clara reminds him of the need to live in the moment, the trio decide to hold Emma a... well, even the Doctor has to capitulate to popular demand, and call it a _space-christening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord, I love this chapter... you will soon see why.
> 
> Chapter title from "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack.

Clara looked across the library to where Emma was sat on a blanket, the Doctor perched cross-legged opposite her and pulling daft faces to make her giggle. She could hear him murmuring to her quietly in Gallifreyan, and she smiled, watching them over the edge of her book as the little girl squealed with laughter and grabbed for her father’s face, waving her arms about uncoordinatedly as she did so.

“Dada,” Emma said with determination, reaching up to her father with a pout that was distinctly like her mother’s. “Dada, up.” 

“You wanna stand up?” he asked her in a crooning voice, imitating her pout as he reached for her hands and helped her to stand, supporting her as she took a couple of halting steps until she was stood upright in his lap, beaming with pride at her own achievement. “Look at you! You’re almost as tall as your ma. Which is to say: not tall at all.” 

Both father and daughter dissolved into mischievous laughter, and Clara raised her eyebrows while shooting them a sharp look, which dissolved into a fond, chagrined smile when she caught sight of their twin looks of innocence. “You know,” she said casually, laying down her book and crossing the room to sit beside them, taking Emma’s hand in hers as she addressed her husband. “You pretend you’re a big bad Time Lord, but you’re actually just a big softie, aren’t you?”

“I am a big bad Time Lord!” the Doctor blustered, pulling a mock-frightening face at Emma, who only chuckled in response. “Aren’t I scary, Emma?”

“No, dada.” 

“You know, I was really enjoying the talking thing she’s got going on,” he mused aloud, half to himself and half to his daughter. He winked at her playfully as he spoke. “Until she turned into her ma and got argumentative.” 

“She gets that from you!” Clara protested, laughing at Emma’s unimpressed expression. “Or maybe…” 

 _I get it from both of you,_ Emma thought loudly, interrupting them in their banter and demanding their attention. _Talking is_ hard _in this ridiculous body. Please appreciate my efforts. Thanks._  

“Oh, darling,” Clara said, stroking her daughter’s dark hair back from her face and leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We do, we do. You’re doing much better than human children at this age.”  

“That’s because human children are-”

“If you say ‘stupid,’ Doctor, then I will smack you so hard you’ll regenerate.” Clara warned conversationally, holding up one finger and watching with amusement as he attempted to find a suitable alternative adjective. 

“’Stupid’?” he blustered, turning a violent shade of maroon that betrayed his prior intentions. “I was going to say… say… urm… limited by less advanced cranial and spatial-motor development.” 

Clara affixed him with a look that told him that she saw through his weak attempt at lying.

“Shut up,” he protested sulkily, looking down at Emma instead of meeting his wife’s gaze. “Just because our daughter is a six-month old genius thanks to _my_ DNA…” 

“I’ll have you know I was pretty smart for a six month old,” Clara informed him smoothly, raising her eyebrows at him and daring him to argue. “I was crawling, and starting to talk…” 

“I bet you were… probably to talk _back_ , no doubt…”

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, dear,” the Doctor countered, pointedly focusing his attention on Emma, who gave him a look that clearly told him that she thought he was pushing it. “Your ma is clever, isn’t she?” 

“Da,” Emma said decisively, then scowled at her own lack of vocal eloquence. “Mama.” 

“Oh, come to mummy, darling. The nasty scary Time Lord is being rude, isn’t he?” Clara scooped Emma into her arms, feeling the little girl nuzzle into her neck contentedly. “My little genius. Mummy’s clever little girl.” 

“Well, they grow up fast, don’t they? Development wise,” the Doctor noted with a tinge of sadness, as River entered the library and smiled at the three of them fondly. “See? We’re married to living proof of that.” 

“If you’re using me as evidence for your ‘enjoy every minute because they grow up fast and then you’re confused and alone’ theory, I would remind you that I got kidnapped and turned into your bespoke psychopath by nutters intent on murdering you. Thus, I’m not exactly the greatest form of proof,” River told him, rolling her eyes as she spoke. “Plus you married me anyway, so let’s really not get into the psychologist’s nightmare that is your brain.”

“Annie,” Emma gurgled, and then rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of River, unceasingly frustrated by her inability to form coherent words. “ _Annie_.” 

 _Honestly, this stupid body, that’s not even close to what I’m_ saying. _I want Auntie River. Please, mummy._  

“Someone’s indecisive today,” Clara observed dryly, passing the little girl to River and then sinking down on the Doctor’s lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Wanting cuddles with everyone.” 

“I’ve no idea where she gets her love of attention from,” River deadpanned, bouncing Emma on her hip. “Could it be the narcissist, the seductress and the hero raising her? Perchance?” 

“Oh, maybe,” the Doctor said, with a chuckle, watching as the little girl reached for River’s hair, giggling as she tugged a lock of it gently. “To be fair, she’s worth every second.”

“See?” Clara crowed, twisting around on the Doctor’s lap and grinning triumphantly, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “Not such a big scary Time Lord after all.” 

“Him? Big and scary?” River scoffed a little, reaching down to fluff up his hair. “Never to us. Never to anyone, unless they try to hurt his family. So don’t you worry little one,” River kissed Emma’s forehead protectively. “Your daddy will always risk all of time and space to keep you safe.” 

“I’ve got a duty of care,” he mumbled, raking his hair back into place with his fingers. “To all three of you. If anyone were to… to…”

“Hey,” Clara said softly, placing her palm on his cheek and pulling him back from the dark place she knew he had found himself transported to. “No one is going to hurt us. OK? We’re safe here with you, in the TARDIS. Safest place in the universe, guaranteed.”

“I just worry-” 

“Well don’t, OK?” Clara assured him, resting her forehead against his and forcing him to look her in the eyes, flinching from the terror she saw in his gaze. “I know it’s hard, but just… please, try to stop living so much in the theoretical future.” 

“Yes, but the theoretical future can become a very real present, Clara,” he told her pragmatically, drawing away from her touch and chewing on his lip as he cast his eyes away from hers. “It’s dependent on a number of variables, including actions or tiny choices that seem inconsequential, and thus what seems – at first – illogical and improbable can quickly become a very real course of events. Thus the theoretical becomes actual.” 

“You are,” Clara sighed, running her thumb over his lip to stop him worrying it. “Such a massive worrier.”

“I have to be,” he said softly, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. “It’s my curse as a Time Lord. To see every possible future, every _could be_ and _may be,_ and every possible outcome of every possible decision.” 

“So…” his wife paused for a moment, opting to make a clumsy attempt at humour in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Is there a future in which I might be dead because I didn’t wear slippers this morning?” 

He closed his eyes to the visions which overwhelmed him, letting out a quiet whimper in response to her words, and she felt an instant stab of guilt. “Clara…” he whispered, holding her closer to him. “Don’t… please don’t make light of…” 

“What?” she asked, not fully understanding what he was telling her and thus nuzzling into his chest to reassure him with her physical presence. 

“Clara,” River interjected in a gentle voice, rocking Emma on her hip. “There are countless futures in which I’m dead… you’re dead… Emma’s dead. And he can see them all, every minute of every day. I can see some of them when I sleep, and lord knows that’s almost enough to drive me mad when I wake up. But he has to live with that every day – with seeing you and everyone he loves die, even though we’re here with him now. All of time and all of possibility, spread out before him.” 

 _Christ,_ Emma thought grumpily to her aunt, half-contemplating the idea of crying. _And here I was thinking this was going to be a fun conversation with you three. This got deep._  

“Doctor?” Clara said softly, stroking her husband’s cheek, watching as he flinched before leaning in to her touch. “Doctor, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to tease you. I’m here. We’re all here, so let’s live for now, yeah? That was all I meant. Being a bit more… spontaneous, maybe? Enjoying the moment.”

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze and holding it, and she noticed the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks in gratitude of her words. “I think,” he opined to her quietly, turning to press his lips to her palm. “That in that case, now would be a great time to get Emma christened, then. Well. Not christened necessarily, just a sort of… oh, in your favourite terms, a _space-christening._ ” 

“She’s only-” 

“I know that usually you wait longer, but why not do it _now_?” he looked to his daughter and smiled lovingly. “I want her to have the best possible start in life. I want her to see the stars, and have them see her. Not to mention, you know, a party for her. I know how you two love a party.” 

“You hate parties,” River noted with bemusement, quirking an eyebrow. “But I can get on board with a space-christening.” 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a _big_ party,” the Doctor pouted, already somewhat regretting the suggestion. “Just, you know… a few friends, and us, maybe? We already have a celebrant.”

“You mean Jack?” Clara chewed her lip as she considered the idea, her mouth twisting up in a slight smirk. “Yeah, alright.”

“Are you just agreeing to this because you fancy him?”

“No…”

 

* * *

 

Jack stood under the arcing rainbow that filled a third of the sky of Haven, yet despite the fact he was holding Emma on his hip, his attention was fixed on Clara, overlooking the little girl he was supposed to be imminently welcoming to the universe in front of his motley congregation. 

“Can I just say, you look fantastic,” he told Clara with a winning smile, enjoying the easy laugh it won him. “That dress looks wonderful on you, it’s so flattering…”

“And you’re holding my daughter, so maybe lay off the flirting?” she chastised half-heartedly, but his smile only widened in response to her admonishments, something which she noted. “Don’t smile when I’m telling you off! God, you’re incorrigible.” 

“Oh, I try ma’am. Maybe you should give me detention,” he winked at her and Clara rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “It would make my life that much more enjoyable.”

 _Stop flirting with my mum,_ Emma thought to him crossly, her brows knitting together as she scowled up at him, and he laughed at her irritation. _It’s not funny! Daddy will be cross, and-_

“Honey, I can handle your old man’s crossness, OK?” he smiled down at the little girl, whose expression softened only slightly. “Your mom is a beautiful woman; I’m allowed to tell her that.”

Emma renewed her glare at him, and he grimaced at the fury of the six-month-old. 

“Seriously, OK, that’s… _fine_ , fine, I’ll stop, I promise,” he capitulated, bouncing her a little to placate her. “Now, c’mon, little one. No more getting grumpy with me, or you might have to christen yourself.” 

 _Fine by me._  

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he looked a touch wounded by the realisation, surprised to have found someone on whom his charms did not work. “What gives?” 

“Emma,” Clara chastised gently, stroking her daughter’s hair and giving her a stern look. “He’s just being nice, sweetheart. Don’t be a grumpy girl with Uncle Jack, please.”

 _But…_  

The Doctor approached Clara and Jack, smiling warmly at them both, and then chucking his daughter under the chin. “I think we’re ready to begin,” he told them confidently, looking over the assembled guests. It was not a large group, consisting mainly of those they had met on their travels, but Clara’s gran sat at the back, looking around her in wonder and occasionally beaming at her granddaughter with pride. As the three of them looked over, she gave them a large thumbs-up before continuing her conversation with Rigsy. 

“Sure,” Jack concurred, and River came to stand with her husband and wife as the ceremony began, taking their hands in a gesture of solidarity as Jack spoke. “OK, ladies and gentlemen, welcome. We’re gathered here today to welcome Emma to the universe, and to introduce the universe to her in return. We’re doing this because she’s a very special little girl, and so we’re here on Haven to make sure that she has the best possible start in life, and that she is prepared for her role as a traveller of the universe. She is lucky enough to have three parents to guide her in her path to adulthood and maturity, and I know that they will serve as her guardians with great pride and honour.” 

The little girl beamed up at him, won over to his good nature, and he returned the smile gladly. 

“Now, in the… hopefully extremely unlikely event that anything should happen to her _three_ parents, it has been decided by them that Kate Stewart is to be Emma’s legal guardian, and will undertake the task of raising this fantastic little girl with absolute dedication. So I have to ask for formality’s sake: Kate, do you accept this role?” 

Kate rose from her seat and nodded emphatically, smiling at Emma as she did so. “I do.” 

“Very well,” Jack beamed, looking from the little girl in his arms to the Doctor. “In that case, Emma Eleanor Amelia Oswald-Smith, welcome to the universe, little one.” 

At the precise moment he finished speaking, a meteor shower twinkled into being above the assembled guests and family. Emma gasped with wonder as she reached towards the sky in an attempt to catch a falling star and her father took her in his arms, watching her grab towards the pinpricks of light, smiling proudly at her curiosity and fascination. “Do you like them?” he asked her quietly, and she looked up at him with a wide-eyed look that conveyed her surprise that he may be responsible of doing such a thing for her. “No, no, no, I didn’t _cause_ this… I just have an acute sense of timing.” 

 _Liar,_ she thought teasingly, nuzzling into him and watching as the final meteors passed above them, the sky clearing. _It was beautiful, daddy. Thank you._

Clara reached over and took her daughter’s hand, smiling at the little girl with affection. “Wasn’t that gorgeous?! Yes! Now, shall we go say hello to people, hey? You can have lots and lots of cuddles.” 

“Da,” Emma agreed aloud, frowning only slightly at the mangled words and adding for the sake of posterity: “Mama.” 

Clara took her from the Doctor, resting her on her hip before approaching their guests with a warm smile. “Thank you all for coming,” she enthused, looking around her with a sense of contentment. “So… inevitable question then: who wants cuddles first?” 

“Me,” Vastra said decisively, removing her veil and smiling at Emma, who gazed up at her in fascination, having never seen a Silurian before. “Human children are just so…” 

“Please don’t say _delicious_ ,” Clara warned, half-concerned, but Vastra only laughed, patting Clara’s arm comfortingly to allay her worries. 

“No, no,” she assured Clara, taking Emma with care and cradling her against the soft fabric of her gown, tapping the end of the little girl’s nose with her fingertip and watching her go cross-eyed. “They’re such fascinating creatures. So tiny and soft.” 

 _You’re a lizard,_ Emma thought, her eyes widening as she looked up at Vastra with open-minded curiosity. _A very pretty lizard. You’re also cold. Warmer hands please._ Vastra chuckled and obligingly breathed on her fingertips, before caressing the little girl’s cheek, smiling at Emma’s sense of wonder. 

“Clara?” came a voice at her shoulder, and Clara turned to find her grandmother stood there, affixing Vastra with a look of stupefied disbelief. “I don’t wish to be rude or racist or anything but… she’s a lizard. There’s a lizard holding my great-granddaughter.” 

“I know, Gran, I promise she’s friendly. She doesn’t bite. This is Madame Vastra. She’s a detective.” 

“She’s… she’s a lizard.” 

“I’m both,” Vastra assured them politely, nodding hello to the elderly lady. “I’m also married to that lovely woman stood chatting to Jack, so just in case that’s another source of consternation, there’s your fair warning.” 

“A gay lizard,” Clara’s gran said somewhat faintly, looking between Jenny and Vastra. “Clara, are all your friends quite so… so…” 

Clara prayed her grandmother was not about to say _weird._ “Yes?” 

“Much more interesting than I’d ever hoped,” the old lady said enthusiastically, grinning at her granddaughter and then at Vastra. “Really, Dave’s friends were _ever_ so dull. And your university friends! Tarts and bores the lot of them.” 

“Who’s a tart?” River asked, appearing from nowhere and wrapping her arm around Clara’s waist casually. “Is it me? Or Clara? Because both are, strictly speaking, factually accurate.” 

“You’re…” the old lady smiled mischievously, tipping them both a wink. “ _Married_ tarts. That’s different.” 

“Nice to know,” River said, pressing a kiss to Clara’s cheek. “Ooh, Vastra looks good today, don’t you think? That dress…” 

“Watch it,” Clara warned, patting her wife’s hand. “No eloping with the Victorian lizard.” 

“She’s from…” her gran stuttered, and Clara waited until the old lady beamed before letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “OK, I _really_ like your friends. She looks great for her age, maybe she can give me a few tips, eh? I must spend more time with her.” 

“Of course,” River promised, and she beamed in response, excited by the prospect. “We can convince the Doctor to work something out, I’m sure.” 

“Mm,” Clara said absentmindedly, reminded of her role as hostess as she looked over to where Psi and Saibra stood a short distance away, deep in conversation with Journey Blue. “You two keep chatting, I’ll be right back.” 

“Hey,” she said as she approached the trio, and the three of them paused their conversation to smile at her welcomingly, Saibra stepping forward and embracing her to demonstrate the effectiveness of the cure that she had procured with the Doctor and Clara’s help. “How are you three?” 

“Not bad,” Journey admitted with a characteristically modest shrug. “Congrats on, you know… the baby, and the wedding, and everything. Knew you’d end up together in the end.” 

“You were fairly obvious,” Saibra added, with a small smirk. “Even when we met you… it was pretty clear you were nuts about him.” 

“Well,” Clara laughed lightly, turning a delicate shade of red. “What can I say? It took us a while to get our shit together, I guess. Although then again, I can’t really talk, look at the pair of you…” 

Saibra blushed as Psi wrapped his arm around her waist and grinned down at her lovingly. “Well, it didn’t take us anywhere near as long as you two lovelorn puppies,” he told Clara. “We’re getting married next month, you three are definitely invited, if you’d like.” 

“That sounds great,” Clara confessed. “It’ll be the first normal wedding I’ve been to in… well, ages. My last two were quite… unconventional.”

“What’s it like?” Journey blurted, overcome by curiosity and unable to bite back the question she had been longing to ask. “I mean, being married to two people at once?” 

“It’s exactly like being married to one, only double the amount of work… and double the amount of good times. Also it makes the childcare a lot easier. Seriously. Definitely recommend it.” 

“Could do with that myself,” Rigsy quipped, sidling over to the small group with his fiancée in tow, hugging Clara in lieu of saying hello. “It’s exhausting sometimes, especially when you’re both working.” 

“Well, you’re the one who…” Jen began, before catching herself mid-sentence and laughing awkwardly, kissing Clara on both cheeks once Rigsy had relinquished his hold on her. “Never mind. Congratulations, Clara, she’s gorgeous. We’ll have to set up a playdate soon, Lucy’s going to love having someone to play with at last.” 

“Definitely!” Clara enthused. “It’ll do Emma good to have someone to play with and socialise with, I worry she’s going to get weird just being exposed to the three of us all day every day, and… _Oh_! Sorry, where are my manners? Rigsy, Jen, this is Saibra, Psi, and Journey Blue. Respectively: bank robbing co-conspirators one and two, and resistance fighter-slash-kicker of Dalek arse.” 

“Hi,” Journey said with a shy smile, glancing up at Rigsy and Jen summarily before casting her gaze back down to her feet. “So, following that generous intro, how’d _you_ meet Clara?”

“The short version of that story is that I was doing community service, and she rocked up and helped us fight off some aliens. The longer version involves graffiti, _technical_ trespassing, and a dash of breaking and entering.” 

Clara wrinkled her nose. “God, I sound like such a criminal.” 

“You _are_ such a criminal,” the Doctor murmured in her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, kissing the crown of her head. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” 

Rigsy laughed, touched by the uncharacteristic display of affection. “Wow. Doctor, you’ve changed a fair bit since last time we met, then. Thawed out a little.” 

“Maybe just a touch. It’s all her influence,” the Time Lord confessed, before neatly steering the conversation back to where it had been before he interrupted. “Realistically, all our friends are partial criminals. It makes for much more interesting dinner parties.” 

“Martha’s a doctor!” Clara argued, and the Doctor scoffed lightly at her words, gesturing loosely to where Martha and Mickey were stood some distance away. 

“She’s a doctor who once spent a year as the most wanted woman on Planet Earth, who’s married to a renegade alien hunter, and works for an organisation that doesn’t even _exist_ according to the British government.” 

“ _Fine._ What about Kate and Osgood?” Clara asked, but the Doctor only have her a withering look. 

“Work for UNIT, who are basically criminals but only do bad things to bad guys, so no one minds too much. Still, not great. Maybe morally ambiguous, at best.” 

“Well, _you_ mind.” 

“Yeah, but _they_ don’t seem to mind that _I_ mind.” 

“Fine, what about Cass and Lunn?” Clara smirked a little, knowing that she’d played her trump card.

“…you might have got me there, actually,” the Doctor admitted, unable to think of any potentially illegal activities they might be involved in. “Fine, not _all_ of our friends. Just most of them. It _definitely_ makes social occasions much more entertaining though. Albeit dangerous. We might have to stop Emma from attending the next one.” 

“Well, Russian roulette is not the same without a few guns, a sonic screwdriver, some alien grenades and two Victorian swords, as Lady Gaga once sang. Well. I might be paraphrasing slightly, but still.” 

“Precisely.”

 

* * *

 

When they finally returned to the TARDIS after dropping their last guest home, Emma was asleep in Clara’s arms, her breath soft against her mother’s neck as she slumbered, one of her hands balled up in Clara’s dress for comfort.

“Someone’s ready for bed,” River observed quietly, holding the door open for Clara and the Doctor, entering the TARDIS last and locking the door behind them. “She’s not the only one, that party was…” 

“Woefully lacking in me, if I’m honest,” came a chillingly familiar voice, and the trio looked to the upper level of the control room in horror, taking in the sight of the purple-garbed figure reclining in the reading chair before experiencing a swooping sense of impending doom. “Oh, really now, close your mouths, you’re catching flies. Yes, it’s me. Yes, I’m here. Yes, I’m very much _still_ not-dead, no thanks to you two lovebirds and your lovely little exploits on Skaro. I figured that since you forgot to invite Auntie Missy to the christening, I’d invite myself to the after-after-party and so, well… here I am. All dolled up and _peachy_ _keen_ to meet your charming little Hybrid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The planet Haven comes from [infinite_regress](http://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_regress/pseuds/infinite_regress)'s wonderful [Wiggle Room series.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/423085)


	28. Secrets Stolen From Deep Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with an old enemy, the Doctor is unsure what to worry about the most: the threat Missy poses to Emma, or the fact she may reveal what he has been trying to keep secret from Clara...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord I love writing Missy. It's like having a licence to go batshit insane. Anyway. Here you all go, I hope I've not kept you all in too much suspense!
> 
> Chapter title from "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper.

“Doctor?” Clara asked, looking to her husband for reassurance and finding him frozen in shock, gazing at Missy with a look of dread on his face. “What does she mean; what’s the hybrid? She doesn’t mean Emma, does she? _Doctor_?” 

“I am here, you know,” Missy observed, examining her nails with a smirk as she continued off-handedly: “But that’s just like a puppy, isn’t it? Looking to its master for guidance. Although, I’ll have you know that mastering things was always rather my forte, he was the weak-willed one.” 

“Doctor?” Clara reiterated, nudging him with her elbow, but he remained motionless, emotions flickering over his face too rapidly for Clara to process. “What did you do to him?” Clara asked Missy, scowling up at her defiantly. “What have you done?”

“And _now_ it speaks to me,” Missy rolled her eyes at Clara’s tone. “Lovely to see you too dear, even if you have had a ghastly biological upgrade since our last little rendezvous.” 

“I’d have argued it was an improvement,” River interjected, finding her voice abruptly and taking a step closer to her wife, aiming for an amicable tone to attempt to defuse some of the tension. “Given the nature of things.” 

“Oh, look at the two of you,” Missy cooed, leaning on the rail to observe them all the better. “Both his little mutanty pets. He really does need to learn to stop using that big old brain of his to mess with genetics. Not least given that you are both rather attractive ladies, and I might get a teensy bit jealous about your refusal to share our dear old friend. You see, this was the reliable thing about his old pets: they were rather more limited in terms of lifespan. One keeled over every decade or so, regular as clockwork. Now… well, tsk, we’ll be stuck with you two for centuries, probably. Dis _gus_ ting.” 

“Missy, what did you do to him?” Clara repeated with a scowl, advancing towards the Time Lady as menacingly as she was able with her height disadvantage. “Have you hypnotised him?” 

“Now, why would I do that?” Missy responded innocuously, widening her eyes in a concerted look of innocence. “That would be most unsporting of me, don’t you agree?” 

“Well, you do like screwing shit up,” River muttered under her breath, and Missy giggled before taking on a disapproving look, wagging a finger sternly. 

“Now now, _language._ Not in front of the little love,” she chastised, and Clara’s dark look only intensified. “Don’t look at me like that dear, I haven’t done anything to him. He’s immune to my charms anyway – believe me, I’ve tried.”

“So what’s wrong with him?” River snapped, clicking her fingers in front of her husband’s face to no avail. “The last time he was this weird was… well, let’s not go into that.” 

“He’s in shock, nano-brain,” Missy explained, sighing with mock-boredom. “Honestly, they told me that you were a bright one. Look at him, he’s clearly in _shock._ Crude human shock. He’ll snap out of it, don’t you worry your finite little brain.” 

“Why’s he in shock?” Clara asked suspiciously, glowering up at the Time Lady. “What did you _do_?” 

“My my, someone’s suspicious today,” Missy groused, descending from the upper decks to circle the console. “He’ll snap out of it, poppet. I promise.”

“You seem very sure,” River challenged, and Missy grinned at her sweetly. “How can you be certain?” 

“Oh, I just know,” the Time Lady intoned, before reeling her hand back and slapping the Doctor hard, smirking as he groaned, shaking his head and looking around him with mild surprise. “Welcome back, dear.” 

“Did you just…” Clara began, looking startled at the development. “Did you just _slap our husband_?” 

“Yes, and now he’s not in shock. You can thank me later. Hello, Doctor. Nice to see you. Stop looking like a zombie and remember your manners, that’s why I gave you the puppy, remember? Training?” 

“Missy,” he growled, rubbing his cheek and glaring at her. “She is not a puppy. Also that slap was a bit unnecessary, wasn’t it?” 

“Probably,” Missy concurred, with a small shrug that indicated she couldn’t care less if it was. “But it was fun. Puppy _always_ gets to slap you, so I figured it was about time I had a shot. Stinging, yet satisfying. I can see why she does it.”

“Look,” he said in exasperation, holding his hands up in a placating manner as he attempted to be polite. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” 

“It’s not _my_ fault your TARDIS was so pleased to see me.” 

“That’s odd, because I have distinct memories of you turning her into a paradox machine.” He narrowed his eyes at her, suddenly concerned for his ship. “What did you disable?” 

“I didn’t disable anything! I just sort of... knocked on the front door, all terrible polite and all. It’s not my fault you left the doors unlocked.” 

“I didn’t,” he snarled. “I never do. So think again.” 

“Look, she let me in. It might have something to do with me being your bezzie mate. It might not. Last of our species in the known universe, all that jazz. She thinks you’re _lonely._ ” 

“No,” the Doctor insisted, holding up a finger warningly. “She doesn’t. I have-” 

“Two wives and a baby, I had noticed. Getting greedy in your old age, aren’t you?” 

“You had an entire _harem_ at one point, I seem to recall,” the Doctor noted with a raised eyebrow. “So don’t try to get funny about things.” 

“Me? Funny? I’m not the one hankering for their own species. The puppy doesn’t count, although that Gallifreyan in her… my my, the High Council would be very interested to meet her, wouldn’t they? Not to mention your pet historian. Hybrids in their own rights, wouldn’t you say? So I should think that that would make you… hmm. A mad scientist? A war criminal? Pick your own epithet, Doctor.” 

“I don’t understand,” Clara confessed, and Missy affixed her with a pitying look. 

“I didn’t expect you to, poppet,” she informed her sweetly. “It’s the simple nature of your brain. Don’t worry about it, it’s not just you: there’s seven billion other idiots out there as well.” 

“Piss off,” Clara spat, the comment stinging her more than she would like. “I don’t understand what this… I don’t know, what this panic about hybridisation is about. _I’m_ not a hybrid. _River’s_ not a hybrid. A hybrid is something... oh,” realisation dawned on her abruptly, and she felt an impending sense of horror. “Something _grown_ …” her gaze fell on Emma, still serenely asleep in her basket, completely oblivious to the conversation occurring around her.

“The penny drops,” Missy quipped, rolling her eyes theatrically. “Has this one not told you about the big bad Time Lord prophecies?” 

“Missy…” the Doctor warned. “I didn’t… don’t…” 

“No,” Clara interrupted, before he could speak over her and attempt to downplay the information. “But it’s bad, right? Whatever the hybrid is, it’s bad… that’s why those people wanted me, those mercenaries on the space station, isn’t it?”

“Clara,” the Doctor sighed as Missy smirked with glee at Clara’s epiphany, placing one hand over her mouth in an attempt to conceal a lupine grin. “Clara, you don’t need to worry about this, it’s all just a silly superstition…”

“I wouldn’t let Rassilon hear you saying that,” Missy noted. “He does get so _touchy_ about prophecies, especially Matrix ones.”

“I’ve heard of the Matrix,” River said suddenly, remembering something she had been told years ago by the man at her side, albeit a man who at the time had been sporting a bow-tie. “It’s a computer, isn’t it? Made of Time Lord minds?” 

“Ten points go to the historian,” Missy cheered. “See? _This_ _one_ I like. This one has a brain.” 

“A computer?” Clara reiterated slowly, mulling over her wife’s revelation. “So it’s not really a prophecy, it’s more… more of an algorithm?” 

“Well now, your puppy never fails to surprise me.” 

“Shut up, Missy,” Clara snapped, and to her credit the Time Lady fell silent. “So a big Time Lord computer ran a load of equations and came up with… what, exactly, about our daughter?” 

“Clara…” the Doctor began, his tone grave, and somehow that only served to frighten her more as she realised that whatever the hybrid was, it was dangerous. “You have to understand that Matrix prophecies aren’t set in stone, they’re often vague, and prone to change-” 

“But they’re generally not wrong,” Missy added, and all three travellers turned to scowl at her. “What? They’re vague, sure, but they’re generally right. Take that one about him, for instance: _he who seeks to heal must first flee, stealing time in order to break his chains._ ” 

“Bit abstract,” he groused, raising his eyebrows in consternation. “Could’ve been about anyone.”

“Wasn’t though, was it?” Missy smirked. “The one about me was _much_ more fun. And bless their hearts, in trying to prevent it, those pompous halfwits only aided it.”

“What was it?” Clara asked, consumed with curiosity despite herself.

“ _The madness of the Time Lords will be found in one who is young, and the sound of drums will bring about the end of days for all who seek to impede the hearer.”_  

“Deep,” Clara deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “So, is anyone going to tell me what the hybrid one is, or am I going to have to lose my temper?” 

“The hybrid…” the Doctor began after a moment’s pause to consider how best to phrase his response. “The hybrid is said to be a combination of two warrior races, and they will be a greater warrior than the sum of their parts, thus one day, they will stand in the ruins of Gallifrey. They will unravel the web of time, and destroy a billion billion hearts to heal their own.” 

“And you think…” Clara closed her eyes, trying to understand what he was telling her and feeling sick to her stomach as she did so. “And you both think that it’s… Emma?” 

“We’re not the only ones,” Missy told her with what might have been sadness. “There’s a sizable chunk of people out there who think the same as we do.” 

“But how… how do they know about her?” Clara stammered, horrified at the thought that there were those who knew of her, knew of her _daughter_ , and sought to harm her. “We don’t…”

“Well you aren’t exactly subtle, are you?” Missy raised her eyebrows at Clara. “Running around saving planets, and all that boring old nonsense. Those mercenaries lured you to Hachite, and they must have been fairly dumb, so if they can find you, anyone can.” 

“But… but Emma’s just a baby,” Clara squeaked, looking down at her daughter with tears in her eyes. “She’s only a few months old, she can’t harm anyone…” 

“But _your_ race is warlike, and lord knows, mine is,” Missy said, with surprising gentleness. “Not to mention the fact she was born of you, and you’re enough of a hybrid.” 

“How could anyone want to hurt a _baby_?” Clara asked, crouching and holding her daughter’s hand, stroking the little girl’s hair gently and feeling a fierce surge of protectiveness. “She’s innocent.” 

“Those thugs would’ve killed you to kill her,” the Doctor stated with surprising bluntness. “Killing a child isn’t a problem for these people.” 

“But…” 

“It’s not who she _is_ ,” River said softly, placing a hand on her wife’s shoulder to offer reassurance. “It’s who she’ll _become_. Trust me; I’d know.” 

“But she might not!” Clara protested. “She might not be this hybrid, it might be me, or River, surely? We’re mixes of the two races as well.” 

“You said it yourself,” Missy shrugged. “A hybrid is _grown_ ; a hybrid is _nurtured_. The historian might count, but given both your slightly peculiar DNA and her brainwashing, I think you’re pretty safe.” 

“Hang on,” Clara stood up, narrowing her eyes at Missy. “ _You_ brought me and the Doctor together.” 

“Well observed. Gosh, she’s got a good brain on her, this one, hasn’t she?” 

“Shut up,” Clara snapped. “You brought us together, the lover of chaos… was this the plan all along? Get us to create the hybrid?” 

“It might have been a rough idea,” Missy admitted. “I was sort of hoping you’d do it with the last face, and you came close, didn’t you? You certainly tried your best, you naughty girl. But no. And then he decided to be all _heroic_ and _noble_ and dreadfully dull _,_ and went and aged himself up on Trenzalore, and you ended up with this stick insect. I was getting pretty desperate by the time your dad bit the dust. I was wondering if I should just infect you both with sex pollen and leave you to get on with it.” 

Clara’s head spun at the information presented to her, and she latched onto the last piece as she fought to process Missy’s words. “Sex… pollen?” she asked weakly. “That’s… that’s a thing?” 

“Wow,” Missy rolled her eyes. “ _Such_ a human. Really. I found you a date! I got you laid! I’m basically your wingwoman here, I think I deserve a few thanks.”

“You got me laid so I would conceive a potentially planet-destroying baby,” Clara noted. “That’s a) creepy, and b) borderline psychotic.” 

“Borderline?” the Doctor sneered, his tone shocking Clara as she registered the abrupt coldness in his tone. “She’s not borderline, she _is_ psychotic. Why are you even here, Missy? Come to try and take my daughter from me?” 

“Of course not,” she replied, pouting as she spoke. “That wouldn’t be terribly sporting on poor old mummies and daddy now, would it? I just came to say hello. Aren’t I allowed to do that? Given that I did, you know, sort of bring her about.” 

“You... just want to meet our daughter?” Clara raised her eyebrows in disbelief, refusing to entertain the possibility. “Nope, this is you. That’s too… easy. You want something. What do you want?”

“Clara,” Missy said, her voice unexpectedly soft, and when Clara met her gaze she was surprised to see tears in the Time Lady’s eyes. “On Skaro, I told you I lost my daughter. Well it nearly broke me. Your husband will attest to that. I’m many things, but I don’t harm children.” 

“Excuse my scepticism,” Clara said tartly, grabbing her partners’ arms and pulling them a short distance away to confer on the matter. “Well?” 

The Doctor exhaled heavily. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “She’s right, she’s never harmed a child. At least, not directly.” Clara quirked an eyebrow, and he explained: “She may have once turned the entire human race into copies of herself. And may also have turned the future human race into robot orbs. But she’s never been one-on-one with a child and hurt them, at least not in my experience.” 

“Oh good,” River said sarcastically. “A psychopath with morals.” 

“What if she’s here to try and take Emma?” Clara asked, and the Doctor shrugged. 

“If she wanted Emma, she’d have taken her by now. I’m thinking of this as… her checking up on her progress? Maybe? Like, a really messed up developmental check on…” 

“Her especially-created bespoke hybrid psychopath,” River finished sardonically. “Yes, excellent. She got you two laid, made you conceive, and now she’s here to check up on Emma to see if she can hold a gun yet. _Fabulous_.” 

“I _can_ hear you, you know?” Missy trilled, and the three of them turned to scowl at her in unison. “Look, I only came to say hello. My best friend just had a baby, you know. It’s kind of a big deal.” 

“So this is… a social call?” Clara asked, and Missy nodded emphatically. 

“A social call. I do those now. Apparently. I’m not even armed, that’s how nice I am. I am here and about as cuddly as I can be.” 

“You being cuddly is like a wolf being cuddly,” River spat. “And you know, we’ve not been formally introduced.” 

“I know. I try to avoid meeting his wives and girlfriends, jealousy makes me _so_ trigger happy. I was rather hoping he’d get bored of you and we could elope but… lord, your faces, I’m joking. Elope with him? It’d be dull, he wouldn’t let me kill anything. _Boring_.” Missy giggled shrilly. “You are a pretty one though, aren’t you? And more of a brain on you than the puppy has, bless her.” 

“I’ll have you know that-” Clara spluttered, but Missy only held up a hand. 

“BA English, First Class Honours, University of York,” she intoned in a flat voice. “Yes, I know.” 

“How-” 

“You have Facebook.” 

“ _You_ have Facebook?” Clara gaped a little in surprise, sure that Missy wouldn’t concern herself with anything so trivial. “Why?” 

“Of course I don’t have Facebook. I just looked you up. How else do you think I picked you out for him? ESP?” 

“Ladies,” the Doctor held up his hands to quell their bantering. “Look, Missy… if you want to meet Emma, fine. Just… be nice.” 

“I’m _always_ nice.” 

“You turned my boyfriend into a Cyberman,” Clara reminded her, as the Doctor took out the sonic and scanned Missy for concealed teleportation devices, still not ready to take her at face value. “Remember?”

“And look how well that worked out for you. Although I must say, I’m disappointed your lovely husband didn’t frisk me down.” 

“She’s all clear,” the Doctor said, sounding a touch disappointed to have been proved wrong. “So I guess… well, she might actually just be being nice.” 

“I’m still suspicious,” River sniffed, as the Doctor scooped Emma up, crooning to her quietly as she stirred in his arms. “And I’m also pissed you’ve just woken her up.” 

“I’ll get her off to sleep again,” he assured his wives, both of whom were glaring at him in exhaustion. “Dad skills.” 

“Knocking someone out is not a dad skill, it’s creepy,” Clara chided, taking a step closer to Missy as the Doctor laid Emma in her arms. “OK?”

“Fine,” he mumbled, distracted by watching the Time Lady’s face melt into something resembling a smile. “Emma, Missy; Missy, Emma. She keeps trying to kill me, so be good.” 

_Oh. Great, thanks, no pressure._

“Ooh, a telepath,” Missy cooed, stroking the little girl’s stomach with her fingertips. “What a little angel you are, hey! You look just like your ma, which is for the best, eh? You escaped the eyebrows.” 

 _You’re terrifying, just… you know, FYI._  

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I try my best. But never terrifying to you, little one. No, never to you.” 

 _You pushed my mum down a hole, hung her upside down, and stuck her in a Dalek._  

“It was an act of love,” Missy promised, pouting minutely. “Honestly. Just keeping us both alive, really.” 

_You kissed my dad. With tongues._

“Look, if we’re going into past deeds, then I could mention that time you threw up on your mum’s new blouse, but I’m not, am I? So let’s not focus on all that unpleasantness, let’s just be lovely to each other instead.” 

_I’m not convinced. And get out of my head._

“Only if you get out of mine, poppet,” Missy bargained, and Emma scowled up at her. “Gods, you look like your pa when you do that. Don’t you, little one?” She paused, looking up at the Doctor. “She’s lovely, you know. You must be very happy.” 

“I am,” he concurred quietly. “It’s… new, but it’s nice.”

“Scared?” she asked him, and Clara and River were surprised to see the sadness in her eyes as the question left her mouth, an unbridled sense of loss burning in her gaze. 

“Terrified,” he admitted against his better judgement. “Absolutely terrified, every minute. But I can’t dwell on the past. You can’t either.” 

“So you think I should get myself a pet one and settle down?” Missy mused, sighing a little as she stroked Emma’s hair. “I think I might be a bit past it. And besides. No one will ever live up to my Clara.” 

“I…” Clara began, thrown by the use of her name, but Missy only smiled at her sadly, a surprising amount of compassion in her eyes. 

“You thought it was a coincidence that I chose you?” she said softly. “No, it was the name, of course the name. Oh, she was younger than you when she died. But she looked _just_ like you. And oh, I loved her. My little Claradvoratrelandin. My precious firstborn. The Time War took her from me. She was a soldier. Full of fire, full of spirit… and her death broke me.”

“Missy…” the Doctor said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder, trying to bring her back from the past that he knew tortured her. “You don’t have to…” 

“It was a name I trusted. A special name. When I found you… well,” she sighed. “You were perfect, and you had her name. So of course I chose you for him.” 

“Hang on,” Clara interrupted, holding up a hand as she tried to come to terms with the revelation. “You picked me based on the fact that I looked like your dead daughter? And had her name?”

“Yes,” Missy shrugged, as though it were an everyday occurrence. “Problem?” 

“But that’s…” 

“You know, chaos, despite the illusion, is rarely coincidental. So I thought… why not create chaos in _her_ name?” the Time Lady grinned, looking a little more like herself. “And look – you’ve done so well. Little Emma! Little hybrid!” 

“So I’m your… substitute daughter, who you’ve married off to your best friend.” 

“Precisely,” Missy purred, beaming down at Emma like a proud grandmother. _Perish the idea,_ Clara thought to herself with a shudder. “Lovely, isn’t it? All my favourites together.” 

“And here I was thinking you fancied me once,” Clara quirked an eyebrow as she spoke, challenging the Time Lady silently. “I see I was wrong.” 

“Why? Can’t it be both?” 

“It can, in a really weird way,” she concurred, and the Doctor rolled his eyes at the two of them. “What?” 

“Look, this is weird enough without you two… I don’t know, weird-adoptive-parenting-slash-flirting. Can we just enjoy the moment?” he implored, and Clara sighed, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around his waist. 

“Would that be the moment that your murderous best friend holds our baby, and we all stop breathing temporarily?” River asked sweetly, and the Doctor groaned aloud. 

“Yes, River,” he acquiesced with resignation. “That moment there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Gallifreyan Clara's name (Claradvoratrelandin) to [TheSaddleman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman) from his fic [Time Bomb](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6450148/chapters/14761879).


	29. In Our Daughter's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Missy's revelations surrounding the Hybrid, Clara begins to grow increasingly paranoid, and increasingly protective of her daughter - much to the concern of her partners. As she becomes dangerously afraid, can the Doctor and River intervene before she goes too far?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "In My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride.

In the weeks that followed Missy’s visit, there was a tangible change in Clara. When she rose from her bed each day, her first action would be to cross to her daughter’s cot, lift the little girl out, and strap her at once to her chest, cradling Emma and murmuring quiet platitudes as she fussed and whimpered, hungry and unhappy at being dragged from sleep by her mother. She would make her way through the dimly lit corridors, still half-caught in a dream, chattering to Emma as she walked, heading for the console room, where she would check and double check the locks on the doors, before heading for the console and initiating a deep system scan. Certain that her morning was going according to plan, she would then sink into the reading chair, Emma yawning against her shoulder as Clara looked over the screens, eyes narrowing as she searched for weaknesses in the TARDIS’s defences – possible cracks through which enemies could slip and seize her daughter away from her. While she understood little of the Gallifreyan writing that appeared across the monitor, and even less of the beeping that the console made each day, she understood that the scans were necessary to keep Emma safe from harm, safe from being weaponised, and thus she would complete them religiously each morning, determined to protect the little girl from those who sought to harm her. 

She had a duty of care now – despite finding those words clunky and awkward when she had first heard them, landing heavily between her and the Doctor – and that became her obsessive daily mantra as she worried over Emma, checking her for the tiniest change, scanning her as intensely as she scanned the TARDIS. Each day she would fuss over the little girl, refusing to allow herself to slip up or grow complacent, and thus her daily checks became a reassuring routine for her to undertake, allowing her to quiet the demons and fears that plagued her mind, if only for a few hours at a time. 

It was not until she had completed her morning rituals in the console room and Emma had woken up further that she would be able to relax somewhat, taking her daughter into the kitchen and setting the kettle to boil, preparing a cup of tea for herself and a bottle for Emma before sinking into a chair and worrying over her little girl protectively, checking her temperature, her breathing, and the clarity of her thoughts. 

 _Mum,_ Emma would invariably think, irritation in her tone as she fought back against her mother’s clumsy telepathic advances, pushing away her bottle and scrunching her face up in discontent. _I’m fine. Stop fussing over me all the time. I’m honestly alright. I haven’t turned into a psychopath overnight. I’m not going to destroy half the universe today._

“Not ever,” Clara would murmur, mostly under her breath, as she stroked her daughter’s hair and smiled down at the little girl. “We’ll keep you safe and sound here, don’t you worry, darling girl.” 

Each morning, too, would come the same arguments, once her partners awoke. The same suggestion would be made by the Doctor – a visit, a jaunt, a quiet sojourn to a planet that he was certain was safe, that didn’t even have sentient life – and the same refusal by Clara, the same quiet interjection by River and the same barbed words from Clara, flung between them callously, a refusal to admit that perhaps she was growing obsessive in her defence of their child. But she could not understand how they were _not_ obsessive in their love for Emma, how they couldn’t see that she was at risk merely by virtue of being their daughter, or why they weren’t caught up in finding a way for them to be safe. She couldn’t understand why they looked at her as though she were mad when she demanded they stay in the TARDIS, tucked in the crux of the vortex, away from harm and from others. She would never be able to make them understand, that much she knew. She would never be able to convey to them the magnitude of her need to protect Emma, how much depended on her ability to take care of her little girl. They did not understand. They would never understand, and that accusation landed heavily between them each morning as she snapped words she did not truly mean, before striding away to someplace quiet on the ship, the TARDIS sealing doors behind her only out of respect for the force of her anger if it did not. 

It was on one such morning, as she paced the library irately, that she heard the door slam open behind her and her husband and wife piled into the room, eyeing her warily as her hand jumped to the heavy magnifying glass at her side, fingers playing over it before she realised who had followed her. 

“Clara,” the Doctor began at once, taking half a step towards her and holding his hands up as he spoke, his voice low and calming. “Clara, please, you don’t need to do that. You don’t need a weapon; we aren’t the bad guys.” 

“Do what?” she snapped, placing one hand on the back of Emma’s head as she backed away from her partners, eyes flickering between them warily as she did so, feeling panic grip her stomach at the idea they may want to take Emma away from her, out into the world and out into danger. “Protect my daughter?” 

“You don’t need to protect her from us,” River said soothingly, tugging their husband back from Clara in a pacifying gesture. “We are the last people you need to protect her from.” 

“You want to take her outside,” Clara accused, her voice growing in anger as she took another step back, widening the physical and emotional distance between them. “You want to take her to places where she might be snatched, or where she might be harmed. You want to risk her, just because you _can_. I won’t allow you to do that.”

“Clara,” the Doctor said again, looking at her with hurt in his eyes, and she felt a small stab of guilt that she had caused him pain, yet she refused to yield in her belief that she spoke the truth. “We don’t want her to be hurt. Or taken. But we can’t stay here forever, you know that. We don’t know what her lifespan will be, but you can’t keep her in the TARDIS forever. It’s cruel.”

“It’s not cruel to want her to be safe!” Clara argued in a fierce voice, swiping angry tears from her eyes and raising her chin defiantly. “It’s not cruel to want to protect her from the _entire fucking universe._ ” 

“It’s cruel to prevent her from living,” River asserted, her tone quiet and reasonable as she made eye contact with Clara. “It’s cruel to deny her things because they may do her harm. You say it’s best for her, but is it? To deny her the universe, to deny her the right to explore the stars, for fear of things which threaten human children just as much as Emma?” 

“No one generally wants to murder human children. Or turn them into weapons of mass destruction. Humans don’t have prophecies about their destinies. The things do not equate.” 

“Clara… it does not do well to dwell on prophecies and forget to live,” River noted with a sigh. “They are not certain, they are not-” 

“Did you just paraphrase Albus Dumbledore at me?” Clara asked, arching an eyebrow and fighting back an involuntary smile at the familiar quote. “Because it won’t work.”

“Look, what I’m trying to say is…” River sighed, looking to their husband for help but finding him lost for words, the pain of his wife’s obsession wounding him into silence. “Have you asked Emma what she wants? I’m sure she doesn’t want to be stuck here, trapped with us forever. Not that she _is_ with us, when you strop off here _every single day._ ” 

“River’s right,” the Doctor added unwillingly, looking to the floor as he spoke, his words thick with unshed tears. “I’ve hardly seen her in three weeks. She’s not just _your_ daughter, Clara. She’s _ours_.” 

“She grew within _me_ ,” Clara scowled, reverting to her stoic role as defender of the little girl clutched in her arms, feeling her own selfishness take over as she snarled: “She nearly killed _me_ and she saved _my_ life. She is _my_ daughter.”

“Fine,” the Doctor snapped, his temper fraying at Clara’s refusal to listen to reason, deciding to meet her fury with his own in the hope of making her understand his frustrations. “Have you asked _your_ daughter what she wants? Whether she wants to be stuck in the time vortex until she dies at the ripe old age of who-even-knows, without having seen so much as a star system, because her mother won’t let her? What happens when you die, Clara? What happens when you die and River and I are left with her, a scared adult who’s never left the safety of a blue box? Do you think she’ll thank you?” 

“How dare you?” Clara asked, gazing at him with a look of betrayal, her voice soft and dangerous. “How dare you even think of that?” 

“I dare because it’s true!” the Time Lord exploded, advancing on Clara, half-considering seizing Emma away from her by force. “She won’t _live_! She will never live unless you stop stifling her like this, and you know that that’s true. You know she doesn’t want this!” 

“I don’t care what she wants!” Clara shouted before she could stop herself, backing away from the Doctor’s advances, stumbling over her own feet as she sought to evade him, both arms wrapping around Emma in an attempt to shield her from the force of the Time Lord’s anger. “This isn’t about what she _wants_ , it’s about what she _needs_.” 

“She _needs_ her parents. She _needs_ to be free,” he rationalised, watching as Clara backed into a corner between two bookcases, looking around with wild eyes as she realised she was trapped. “This is not a life.” 

Clara realised the truth of his words in that instant, her physical entrapment in the face of the Time Lord’s fury forcing her to acknowledge, for the first time, that her actions were harmful, and that she was inflicting more pain on her daughter than she was preventing. As the Doctor reached up to her in a swift movement, she flinched away instinctively, but when she opened her eyes she found him frowning at her half-attentively, sonicking the straps holding Emma against her chest, pulling the little girl free and walking away with her cradled in his arms.

“There now,” he crooned to their daughter, feeling her nuzzle into his chest, relishing the moment with her father after weeks of physical separation. “You’ll be ok, little one.” 

 _But mummy-_  

“We’ll look after your ma. She only wants what’s best for you. You mustn’t hold that against her, Em.” 

 _No, daddy, look at mummy. She’s crying._  

The Doctor turned, finding his wife had crumpled to the floor, tears staining her face as she wept, rocking backwards and forwards while clutching her knees. He started towards her, but River was already at her side, eyes full of compassion as she looked down at Clara. 

“Hey,” River said, sinking down beside her and wrapping the younger woman in her arms, embracing her in a way she understood her to need. “Clara, it’s alright. It’s ok, you haven’t done anything wrong. We’re going to help you, OK? We aren’t cross with you, OK? We just want to help.” 

 “But I have done something wrong,” she wept, shaking her head furiously as she spoke, horrified by how out of control she had allowed her sense of duty to become, the reality of it stealing the breath from her lungs. “I could’ve really… I just… I just wanted to _protect_ her.” 

“I know,” River acquiesced, kissing her forehead and allowing her to weep. “We both know. We all want to keep her safe, darling, you just… you took your duty of care very seriously, that’s all. We can work on that. We can keep her safe and keep your mind at ease, don’t you worry.”

“I just… I don’t want anyone to hurt her,” Clara sobbed guiltily. “My brain just… I can’t… and then he,” she cast a glance at the Doctor, stood a little way away and murmuring to Emma in Gallifreyan. “He mentioned… I can’t ever think about her without me, I don’t want to think about her going through what I did and then her hating me.” 

“Well, he’s an insensitive prat,” River soothed, scowling over at their husband in a chastising manner. “You’ve got a good long life ahead of you yet. And she won’t ever hate you, Clara. Not until she’s a teenager and she’s going through _that_ phase, anyway.” 

Clara managed a weak grin at that, resting her head on River’s shoulder, hiccoughing as she wiped her eyes again. “Is she ok?” she asked the Doctor in a small voice, dreading the response. “I mean, I didn’t… I don’t know, just is she alright?” 

“A little bigger than I remember,” he murmured, crouching beside her so that she could hold out a hand to Emma and seek reassurance, unused as she had grown to being physically separated from the little girl. “But otherwise fine. Worried about you.” 

Clara chuckled dryly as Emma took her hand, the little girl squeezing tightly. “ _She’s_ worried about _me_?” 

“Of course she is. Mainly the fact she’s been worrying about you for weeks but you’ve been too stubborn to listen to her.” 

“Mummy,” Emma said suddenly, the word enunciated perfectly clearly, looking up at Clara with wide, dark eyes. “Mummy.” 

All three adults looked to her with surprise, unused to such enunciation. “You…” Clara blinked at her daughter, quelling her shock in favour of surprise. “That’s right, clever girl!” 

“Mummy,” Emma said again, holding her arms out towards Clara, trying to wriggle away from the Doctor insistently. “Mummy, mummy, mummy.” 

“Alright, wee one, stop squirming,” the Time Lord grumbled, passing the little girl back to Clara and watching her look up at her mother with concern, trying to ignore his vague feeling of being passed over. “There.” 

 _Mummy,_ Emma thought breathlessly. _Mummy, I said your name! I said your name properly and I love you and are you ok now? You were scary, mummy, you were cross and scary and shouting and I don’t want you to shout any more. Please don’t shout any more. I want to see daddy and auntie River and I don’t want you to be cross always._

“Oh darling,” she murmured, cradling the little girl to her and kissing her hair. “I’m sorry, little one. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Things will be different now. Things will be better.” 

_Can we see the stars?_

“We can see the stars every day until the end of time, I promise,” Clara whispered, looking over to the Doctor with a small smile. “And maybe a little longer than that.”

 

* * *

 

Clara looked up as the Doctor entered the library, his arms now devoid of their daughter as she slumbered in her cot, safely tucked up with River at her side to watch over her as she slept. 

“Hey,” Clara murmured softly, patting the sofa by her invitingly, moving so that her husband could sit down. “Did she go down ok?” 

“Fine,” he confirmed, curling up against her side and resting his head upon her stomach, exhaling slowly as he fought to find the appropriate words to express what needed to be said. “Clara, about earlier…”

“Don’t apologise,” she said at once, stroking his hair. “Really. Don’t. I should be doing that.” 

“You were hormonal,” he told her gently, looking up at her as he attempted to help her understand that there would be no attribution of blame involved, and no anger on his or River’s part. “Hormonal, and Missy scared you, and you wanted what was best for Emma. That was all you wanted to do. We know that.”

“I… why didn’t you intervene?” she asked, looking down at him with a look of consternation, biting her lip before continuing: “You could’ve, at any point. You could’ve just taken her. Why today?” 

“It’s… complicated,” he sighed, wondering how best to explain. “We knew you had to see the problem, and you had to cede to what we were saying. You had to see the problem and _want_ to find a solution. Just taking Emma from you and trying to make you see sense wasn’t going to help. You had to be the catalyst yourself.” 

“But why today?” 

“Because today, Emma was scared,” he confessed, refusing to meet his wife’s gaze as he disclosed the revelation unwillingly, knowing the impact it would have on her and her self-perception, knowing the guilt it would invoke in her. “She was afraid of…” 

“Of me?” 

“No,” he said at once, before backtracking and admitting: “Well, not wholly, at least. She was afraid of being kept away from the world, of being kept away from the experiences she wanted to have. Afraid of being kept away from me and River.” 

“Our daughter… I _scared_ our daughter?” Clara’s voice trembled as she spoke, the revelation overwhelming her. “Jesus. _Jesus._ ” 

“Clara,” the Doctor said quietly, looking up at her and forcing her to meet his gaze, trying to convey a sense of a forgiveness to her non-verbally, knowing he needed to make her understand that this was not her fault, and that he did not blame her. “You didn’t mean to scare her. You didn’t mean to go so overboard while protecting her, which is why she forgives you, and she understands why you did what you did.  We can work to get past this. We can take her somewhere beautiful, and safe. I will guarantee her safety, because I will pick _the_ most perfect place for us to visit.” 

Clara nodded slowly, closing her eyes against the tears that burned there as her fingers interlaced with her husband’s and squeezed, relaxing when he reciprocated the action. “To the stars then?” 

“To the stars.”


	30. Stars Are Falling All For Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the Doctor and River's intervention to reassure Clara of Emma's safety, the trio decide to take a day trip somewhere magical, to introduce their daughter to the wonders of the universe. However, Clara has some questions first: important, scientific questions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh it's finally finished! Huge thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, especially my gorgeous beta reader YouLookLikeASchoolteacher, and my frequent commenter and Tumblr buddy, TheSaddleman. You guys are the best. 
> 
> I'm actually quite sad this is over, but have no fear: there are big ol' sequelly plans in the works.
> 
> Shoutout to JKR for the Harry Potter references in this chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from "Your Guardian Angel" by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

Clara stood in the doorway of the TARDIS, one hand clutching the blue-painted wood as she contemplated the landscape of the planet that the Doctor had chosen for them to visit, eyeing it critically in an instinctive appraisal for danger. Soft blue grass covered the gently undulating hills that stretched as far as the eye could see, and the triple suns shone down from directly overhead, splitting the shadow of the TARDIS into a trio of rectangles that darkened the landscape in odd, disjointed ways. 

“Are you sure about this?” she asked the Doctor for the hundredth time that morning, biting her lip as she spoke, squinting across to the horizon. “I mean, really, actually one hundred percent sure that this planet is safe? Because you have a habit of saying that and it being… not.” 

“Clara,” he said with an offended huff, turning to look at her and widening his eyes innocently as he spoke. “When has anywhere I’ve ever taken you not been safe?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said dryly, counting off on her fingers: “Let’s see, in no particular order: Akhaten, Hedgewick’s World of Wonders, the Moon, the Orient Express, Bristol, the North Pole, _London,_ for god’s sake…” 

“You _live_ in London,” he countered defensively, frowning as he spoke. “It’s not my fault it’s a dump. The humans do that all by themselves, no alien intervention required.” 

“Firstly, rude,” she scowled, taking affront at his insult of her adopted city. “Secondly, it’s not a _dump._ At least, not all the time, and not all of it. Admittedly, the East End is still a bit shit, but that’s not the point. The point is that thirdly, _you make it a lot more dangerous._ Skovox Blitzers? Zygons? Cybermen? Ringing any bells in that big old brain of yours?” 

“None of those were my fault!” 

“To be fair,” River interjected patiently. “Darling, you do have a tendency to attract trouble. I think it’s why I love you.” 

“Do you mean me, or her?” the Doctor asked, arching an eyebrow at his wife, but she only smirked in response. 

“Both of you,” she replied with a maddening grin, avoiding giving a straight answer. “But mainly you. You did always have a nose for danger.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scuffing the toe of his boot on the grass and refusing to meet her gaze. “I don’t-” 

“Not a complaint,” River added. “Merely an observation. However, I really do hope for your sake that this planet is safe. I fear for your physiology if not.” 

“What…” 

“I will happily rip your dick off and feed it to rabid space monkeys if anything goes wrong,” Clara informed him cheerfully. “Understood?” 

The Doctor swallowed, the graphic nature of the threat momentarily rendering him silent. “Well,” he said after a moment, determined not to show how Clara’s threat had unnerved him. “There’s no such thing as space monkeys.” 

“I’m sure I can find some,” Clara assured him, with a nonplussed look. “Failing that, there’s that really big dog that the people in my block of flats have. I bet it’s hungry.” 

“How are you that scary?” the Time Lord whined, sticking his lip out petulantly. “You’re five foot two, it’s not _fair._ ” 

“Life isn’t fair,” Clara reminded him, in the singsong voice her mother had reserved for such wisdoms, but he only pouted all the more. “Be a good boy and run the scan again.” 

“Shan’t,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet again to hide the redness of his cheeks. “Already ran it three times. There’s nothing here, and nothing will be here. This is functionally the middle of nowhere. It’s like the Salisbury Plain of space.” 

“Salisbury Plain,” River said thoughtfully, looking to Clara as she spoke. “Is full of soldiers, and tanks, and military training exercises.”

“Oh for the love of…” he sighed in frustration. “It’s also empty and in the middle of Wiltshire. It is basically in the middle of nowhere. OK? Nothing goes in, and nothing gets out. Unless they want to get blown up by a big beefy bloke in a tank. In this analogy, I am the big beefy bloke in a tank.” He brandished his sonic in what he hoped was a threatening manner, causing River and Clara to exchange a look and dissolve into giggles. 

“You’re going to blow up anyone who lands on this planet today?” Clara asked with an incredulous look. “ _You_?” 

“No,” he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m going to sonic them until they beg for mercy.” 

River and Clara exchanged another look, and then dissolved into fresh gales of laughter.

“What?” he asked, offended by their response to his display of machismo. “I’m scary.”

“Darling,” River reminded him, patting his arm gently and using a soft, calming tone. “Last night you cried while reading Emma _The Ugly Duckling._ ” 

“It was _sad_ ,” he insisted. “ _I_ was an ugly duckling once. I related. I showed my emotions in a valid and human way.” 

“Yes you did,” Clara reassured him. “But the point is, you won’t sonic anyone innocent. You’re much too gentle for that. And no, before you try to complain, that’s a good thing. You’re not a big beefy bloke in a tank. We don’t want that.”

“You…” he paused for a moment, before the words tripped out of his mouth unbidden: “You dated Danny, he was a big beefy bloke in a tank.” 

The pain that registered on Clara’s face in that instant was enough to cause guilt to pool in his stomach at once, shame filling him as he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Sorry,” he murmured immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t…” 

“No,” she sighed, looking away from him as she regained her composure. “You make a fair point, I guess. But he was kinda like you, in that he was a _reluctant_ big beefy bloke in a tank. He regretted what he’d done, he regretted getting caught up in someone else’s war and the things it had driven him to do. Just like you did, with the Time War.” 

“I still shouldn’t have mentioned…” 

“Doctor,” Clara said firmly, looking up at him with eyes that were full of a pain he could never truly comprehend, but were resolutely dry and unwavering. “It’s fine. You’re allowed to say his name. He would want to know he was being thought of. Even if it was by you.” She grinned a little lopsidedly then, determined to lighten the mood. “Just don’t try and invoke him in disputes. Had enough of that to last a lifetime… back when… yeah.” 

“Sorry,” he said again, for want of anything more meaningful to offer the conversation. “I’ll… yeah. I won’t. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologising and run the bloody scan.” 

“Clara,” River rolled her eyes. “We can just go and sit outside the TARDIS, OK? We don’t have to wander anywhere, we can just… I don’t know, picnic? Is that what normal people do? Then if anything happens we can just pop back inside. No sweat.” 

“No sweat,” Clara repeated dubiously, thinking that the entire idea sounded wholly improbable for her family. “Do we _have_ a picnic though?” 

“I’m sure we can ask the TARDIS nicely for one,” River assured her with a smile. “I’ll go and look in the kitchen, you two get Emma. OK?”

“OK,” Clara concurred, reaching up to kiss the Doctor on the cheek. “Come on you.” 

“Yes boss,” he mumbled, trailing after her obediently, finding her hand and squeezing it as they walked. “All OK?”

“Yep,” she said stoically, before making a face and stopping in the middle of the corridor, yanking him round to face her. “Well. Look. I have a question.” 

“No,” the Doctor said at once, knowing from experience that it was the safest option. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.” 

Clara scowled. “It’s not a yes or no question. Look, in _Harry Potter_ – shut _up,_ I’m an English teacher, and ok, maybe I… _stop laughing!_ – they can’t make food just _appear._ It’s an exception to the laws of Elemental Transfiguration. So why can the TARDIS do it?” 

The Doctor composed himself enough to offer her a disdainful look. “Magic,” he said sarcastically, only earning himself a fiercer glare in response. “What? OK, fine, maybe the TARDIS is just cleverer than JK Rowling.” 

“How?” 

“Well, it’s not difficult, Stephen Hawking is definitely more-” 

“How does she _do it._ The TARDIS. Make food. Explain.” 

“Look,” he sighed, trying to come up with a simple way to explain this to Clara and opting to stall her instead as he thought. “You’ve lived here how long and this is only just occurring to you now?”

“Stop avoiding the question,” Clara looked at him slyly, knowing the surest way to make him answer. “Do you not know? Is that why you’re not telling me?” 

“Of course I know!” 

“So explain!” 

He sighed again. “Look, for all her sins and the liberties taken with certain creatures, Rowling was right about transfigu-whatsit. You can’t just make food appear out of nothing – or at least not if you’re human or wizard and consigned to one boring little realm of possibility at a time. Luckily for us, the TARDIS operates in several realms of possibility all at once.” 

“Like you?” Clara interjected. “You’ve said that you can see all of time, is it like that?” 

“Exactly,” he nodded, pleased that she was keeping up. “She can see all potential futures, including ones with food. Now, the Time Lords might have been pompous twits with terrible headgear…”

“Says the man who used to wear a fez…” Clara muttered under her breath. 

“But they were very clever, and also surprisingly practical – they realised TARDIS pilots needed to eat. Stop looking at me like that, of course Time Lords had to eat. We aren’t entirely self-reliant, Clara, we do need occasional sustenance to grow and develop normally, and do important things like _stay alive._ So they installed a system. The kind of very clever system only my race could develop.” 

“Are you done being smug yet?”

“Nearly. They invented a system that allowed TARDISes to cross the realms of abstract possibility. Should pilots require food, then TARDISes simply envision a future in which food is present, cross the abstract temporal realm, and enter that food into physical existence in the present.” 

“Oh,” Clara said, in an attempt to feign understanding, nodding emphatically in the hope of convincing the Doctor of her comprehension. “Right.” 

“In other words, if you want a picnic, the TARDIS looks ahead to us having a picnic. And then it sort of… wills it into being.” 

“Right.” 

“You’re wishing you hadn’t asked, aren’t you?” 

“Yep. Can we get Emma and go and eat hypothetical future space food?” 

“It’s not…” 

“Shut up,” Clara said in a cheerful tone, entering the nursery and beaming at Emma, who was stood in her cot clutching the sides for support, and babbling away contentedly. “Hello darling! Look at you, being all clever and standing up!” 

“Mummy,” Emma said, relinquishing her hold on the wood to reach for her mother and tumbling down into a sitting position, her lip wobbling as she looked up at her parents. “Mummy.” 

“Oh!” Clara scooped her up, allowing the little girl to nuzzle into her neck for comfort as she stroked her back soothingly. “There now. It’s OK! No harm done, and we’re going on a trip today, won’t that be fun?” 

 _Will you be alright?_ Emma thought at once, concern evident in her tone. _You won’t be worried, or scared, or panic?_  

“I’ll be fine,” Clara assured her. “I promise. I’ve got daddy and auntie River to look after me, and it’s all safe and beautiful for us, so it’s going to be just fine.”

 _You are scared. I can tell._  

“Stop being so like your father,” Clara chastised, her brow furrowing as she looked down at her daughter in consternation. “No poking around in my head. It’s not fair.” 

_Sorry. But you are._

“Of course I’m scared,” Clara admitted, the Doctor wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down to place a chaste kiss against her neck. “All the time. I’m scared of going back to how I was. But I’ve got to trust myself and my ability to do this. Let me be brave.” 

“You’re always brave,” the Time Lord murmured in her ear, kissing her hair tenderly. “My Clara.” 

 _Gross, no snogging in front of me please._  

“Hush,” Clara told the little girl, kissing the Doctor and relaxing a little into his embrace. “Don’t let me go… you know. Weird again.” 

“We won’t, Clara,” he promised. “Come on. Let’s go and check on the transcendental picnic.” 

 _Did you get to talk about that? I want to talk about that! Daddy promised me we could talk about transcendence of possibility. I_ get _these things! This is unfair._  

“Emma Amelia Oswald-Smith,” Clara scolded as they returned to the console room, the little girl held on her hip. “Why, if I didn’t know better I would accuse you of being a snob and calling your mother stupid.”

 _Not_ stupid. _Just…_  

“Doctor,” Clara said conversationally, looking over at him with a warning glint in her eye. “Do try to avoid invoking speciesism in our daughter. I might be a human, but I’m not stupid. I would suggest that you stop treating us as such.”

“Clara, last week you literally fell over your own feet.” 

“Can _you_ name the complete chronology of Jane Austen novels, complete with publishing dates, publishing houses, and a list of relevant secondary literature that offers perspective on the sociocultural impact such texts provided?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh… piss off. Stop being such a snob. Or feel my wrath.” 

The Doctor muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “your tiny human wrath,” but Clara opted to rise above it and step outside, allowing the alien sunlight to warm her daughter’s skin.

“There!” Clara cooed, allowing Emma to look around and take in the landscape, her face a mask of wonder. “Isn’t that gorgeous?” 

 _Yes, but mummy,_ Emma thought abruptly, cutting through her joyous mental chatter as realisation struck. _You brought me out here in my pyjamas._  

“Yes I did,” Clara acquiesced, making a guilty face before deciding not to allow the matter to concern her. “To be fair, they’re nice, and they’re comfy, so it doesn’t matter terribly. Now stop complaining, you’re much too like your father.” 

“You know, genetically speaking-” the Time Lord began, but River smacked him in the arm before he could get any further into his pedantic mode. “Sorry, sorry. Come here love.” 

He took his daughter and sank down onto the picnic blanket that River had spread out, sitting the little girl on his lap and murmuring to her in Gallifreyan, pointing occasionally to the sky or the horizon and gesturing grandly. 

“What’s he saying?” Clara asked River with curiosity, wrapping her arm around her wife’s waist and leaning into her. 

“He’s telling her about the planet,” River told her, pressing a kiss to the younger woman’s hair and watching their husband mime a sweeping arc with his hand, Emma giggling in response. “And about the suns and the stars. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Clara said absently, looking around them in awe. “Just… I forgot how beautiful these places could be. I forgot what I was keeping Emma from.” 

“No crying,” River warned, jabbing Clara lightly in the side. “Please, no crying.” 

“I’m not gonna cry,” Clara assured her, shoving her hand away. “It’s just nice to be free again, proph-” 

“Don’t even say that word. If you say that word, I will chase you down that hill until you fall over and roll down it, and you will get blue grass stains all down that extremely delectable dress. Which I would not object to then removing, but I think the husband might object to the next part.”

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“Disgracefully so,” River concurred with a grin. “Not gonna say the word then?” 

“I’m tempted to now,” Clara teased. “Just to see if you’d do it.” 

“Now, you know my track record,” River cautioned. “I would absolutely do it.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Clara raised an eyebrow. “But would you be content instead to sit peacefully with our daughter and be cute, and not say anything even _vaguely_ inappropriate?” 

“Aww, c’mon,” River protested. “That’s an unfair caveat. She’s gotta learn these things from someone, and it’s sure as hell not gonna be the Time Lord Vicdorkius.” 

“She’s a _baby,_ ” Clara reminded her, taking a seat beside the Doctor and holding her daughter’s hand, beaming at her as she did so. “Were you that inappropriate as a baby?” 

“I wouldn’t remember, I was a bit busy being psychologically conditioned,” River deadpanned. “I don’t think there was much in there about pleasure or relationships, I figured that part out _all_ by myself. Well. There was this one guard who…” 

“Can we not?” the Doctor suggested, and River fell silent with a knowing smirk. “Can we just appreciate this beautiful planet? This beautiful _safe_ planet?” 

“I guess,” Clara teased, leaning against his shoulder and smiling as his arm snaked around her waist. “This place is perfect. Isn’t it, Emma?” 

_It’s beautiful, and I want to stay here forever._

“Oh, little one… there’ll be plenty more planets,” the Doctor told her softly, kissing the crown of her head and then looking up to the stars. “And plenty more adventures. But for now… well, for now, I think there’s no place we’d rather be.”


End file.
